


Where the hell is Bucky?

by Belsmomaus



Series: The Hell-Series [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Memory flashbacks, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Road Trip, hurt!Jefferson, kid!Bucky, kid!Jefferson, other MCU and OUAT mentioned, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4610475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belsmomaus/pseuds/Belsmomaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Who the hell is Bucky?'</p><p>- Instead of having Steve’s back – no matter if it was the plan or not, if he liked it or not, it would’ve been the right thing to do! – he’d let his emotions get the better of him. And it had made him a liability.<br/>Again! - </p><p>Jefferson and Steve have a common goal: finding Bucky!<br/>And they are determined to face whatever fate throws their way to reach it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not As Planned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PadBlack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadBlack/gifts).



> Hello everyone!
> 
> Some of you have asked for a sequel. Here it is!
> 
> It starts off only a few hours after we left our guys in the last story. 
> 
> This time it's written from Jefferson's point of view, so we get more insight into his character and his motives and his history. Which also means at this point it might be of advantage to know 'Once upon a time' for this story. 
> 
> BUT, my dear friend PadBlack assured me that it is nonetheless possible to enjoy the story even without knowledge of the show. It might lead to some confusion now and then but nothing too major. And if you have questions or if stuff is unclear, I'm happy to help you out. 
> 
> My thanks (a big, big, big thank you) goes to PadBlack for reading through the whole story even though she doesn't like Steve and doesn't know Jefferson, so: thank you!  
> I don't take that for granted!

 

_Stay here!_

Jefferson was still angry that he hadn’t put more effort into fighting Steve.

Well, he had tried, but the nice and affable and slightly awkward guy who’d stayed a night at his house had suddenly been replaced by the adamant soldier he’d claimed to be. And there was no arguing with that guy. He’d choked off all of Jefferson’s arguments with a stern shake of his head and a muttered ‘not this time’. And of course that _glare_.

That no-nonsense glare that tolerated no objection.

Jefferson hated it.

And that it had worked on him he hated even more.

He’d sworn never to be someone’s puppet again and never to be bullied into something he didn’t want to do.

Well, this was even worse!

This was about finding his brother, only he didn’t feel like a part of it. He felt patronized, as if he couldn’t look out for himself.

For goodness sake, he’d been travelling worlds Steve could never imagine. He knew how to keep out of trouble.

He could _help_!

Without warning he punched his left fist against the tree he’d been crouching behind. Stinging pain replaced his anger the instant the bark broke the skin of his knuckles.

Hissing, he shook his hand until the pain abated. With a tired sigh he lowered his head which got his right hand into his line of sight. And the gun in it.

_Take this. Just in case. You know how to use it?_

He knew, but he never had before.

And he hadn’t told Steve about his own gun in his backpack.

Looking at it, feeling its cool weight in his hand made him think.

He had no idea what to expect except for the rude explanation about S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra and secret organizations within secret organizations which was all rather confusing to be honest. A quick overview while drinking coffee out of paper cups at a gas station certainly wasn’t enough for that.

And he didn’t know the person his brother had become. Not even Steve knew what to expect at that end, but no matter if they found the brainwashed weapon or the childhood friend, it was Steve who shared a lifetime of memories with the man not him.

Swallowing against that bitter truth he took a calming breath.

Maybe it was for the best to lay low for the moment and just watch.

Kneeling here, south of Portage Lake and obviously a secret former S.H.I.E.L.D. base, he pressed himself closer against the tree, peeking carefully around it. The act itself held a strange familiarity after all the years he’d spent playing hide and seek with Grace. He banished the thoughts of his daughter out of his mind. This was not the right moment to reminisce and even less for missing her already.

Few meters away was a big clearing, covered mostly in mossy grass and tree stubs overgrown with mushrooms. It was pretty ironic if he thought about it.

But his eyes travelled to the other side of the clearing where part of the ground fell away. A few nearby trees had fallen down when the ground beneath it had sagged. Farther away smoke filled the air, wafting lazily between the trees without giving anything away about its origin.

Steve thought that part of the hidden Hydra base had collapsed due to some kind of explosion. An explosion that could have been caused by Bucky. Steve was right, it was a long shot, but he couldn’t help the nervous energy at even the slight possibility of finding his brother here.

Maybe he was still down there? Trapped?

_Stop it! This isn’t helping at all!_

Instead of running ‘what if’ scenarios through his head he concentrated on Steve who just jumped down into the depression. For someone of his size he really moved surprisingly noiseless. And absurdly graceful. His shield was strapped to his left arm as he looked around the forest, checking his surroundings before he started looking for something at the ground.

Not for the first time Jefferson realized that it was eerily quiet. No birds, no other animal noises at all, just the faint rustling of leaves in the soft breeze. The explosion must have scared everything away.

Steve leaned forward and pushed a large branch out of the way that must have broken off when the tree next to it had fallen. Jefferson stared, open-mouthed. He’d never been able to move that thing let alone make it seem easy. Beneath it appeared something dark and smooth. Was that metal? After a few powerful kicks the metal gave way with a strained groaning noise, revealing nothing but darkness – and some smoke.

So there really was an underground base here.

Steve checked his surroundings one last time, his gaze lingering on Jefferson for a moment before he crouched into the darkness and vanished into the opening.

Jefferson didn’t like it at all. At least until now he’d been able to watch, he knew what was happening, but now? Should he just sit here and do _nothing_? For how long?

“Dammit Steve! This really isn’t what I signed up for!” he muttered under his breath.

Something cracked softly.

He frowned, listening intently for a repetition, but there was none. Shrugging he focused back on the dark hole where Steve had vanished.

Weren’t they supposed to work like a team?

And wasn’t there supposed to be a plan?

Well, maybe there was, but obviously his partner in crime didn’t think it necessary to share more than ‘stay here, I’ll check out the base’.

With another annoyed sigh he started tapping out a restless rhythm with his left hand against the bark of the tree.

He wasn’t sure why he felt this uneasy.

This was about finding his brother. He’d left Grace behind again for this. And he’d never been outside of Storybrooke in this world. Not ever.

But that wasn’t it. Not really.

It wasn’t the patronizing either. He didn’t like it but it made him angry and annoyed, not uneasy.

Improvisation had always been his strong suit, but nonetheless he had always started out with a plan. Not knowing what the plan was, that must be it.

That’s when something to the right caught his eye. There was movement between the trees on the far side of the clearing. On instinct he crouched down a bit lower and his fingers tightened around the gun in his hand.

Three men in black clothes were sneaking towards the spot where Steve had entered the base. They were armed, all of them. And their movement spoke of training for this kind of thing.

 _Dammit! What am I supposed to do_ now _?_

He couldn’t warn Steve. Should he shoot them?

No, even if he actually hit one of them he would never be able to take them all out before they killed him for notifying them of his location. And he didn’t think that he could actually kill someone like that. Or at all.

But there had to be something he could do!

The men closed in on the depression at the side of the clearing. Two more men joined them from the other side. Three stayed up, securing the area, while the other two jumped down. He could only see them from the waist up but it was enough. They found the dark opening and one of them got in, weapon at the ready.

_Dammit!!!_

Jefferson shoved his hand against the tree in agitation, scraping his palm in the process.

These men must be Hydra, looking for the one who destroyed their base, right?

Or were they S.H.I.E.L.D.? A backup group trying to help Steve?

No, Steve had said, S.H.I.E.L.D. was destroyed.

He needed more information. How was he supposed to react if he couldn’t get the situation into context?

God, he must’ve gotten rusty. He’d been good at this stuff once. He’d jumped from one strange world to another, adjusting easily, operating the different circumstances, the different laws and factions to his advantage. But now…

A shot rang through the silence.

Jefferson startled, the gun almost fell out of his hand.

There was no time to be ashamed by his reaction, not when Steve was obviously in danger.

Without thinking he pushed himself up, bristling with nervous energy, ready to charge in.

His heart was pounding, flooding his body with adrenaline, when suddenly a cry resounded over the clearing. Unsure of its origin he frowned. That’s when something shot out of the dark opening, flying back until it crashed against a fallen tree with a thud.

Jefferson froze.

Next thing Steve appeared again and Jefferson sighed in relief, only now realizing that he’d held his breath before.

But his relief wasn’t long lived. The other guys in black opened fire immediately.

And with a sudden clarity Jefferson knew that _this_ was way out of his league.

This had nothing to do with running from guards or outsmarting nobles.

Steve pulled up his shield and used the ricocheting bullets against his opponents by actually directing their flight pattern with his shield. At least that’s what he thought happened because Steve was nudging his shield a bit this way or that and out of nowhere one of the other men just fell down with a cry. He moved closer to the nearest guy in black, knocked his weapon out of his hands with his shield and yanked the guy around, effectively positioning him between himself and the other ones. They ceased fire, obviously hesitating with their own man in the line of fire.

And Steve took full advantage of that. With a powerful swing he threw his shield away – was the idiot trying to get himself killed? Why was he throwing his only defense away? – as if it were a boomerang while he punched the guy in front of him right in the face. Meanwhile his shield knocked one guy’s weapon out of his hand and hit the other one against the head, leaving him crumbling to the ground, unconscious.

Jefferson couldn’t believe his eyes when the shield actually flew right back into Steve’s hands – or onto his left arm to be precise.

This was absolutely impossible!

There had to be magic at play!

Jefferson struggled to follow the events unfolding on the clearing. Steve moved so damn fast and with a precision he’d never witnessed before. If not for his grey shirt and shield he wouldn’t know how to keep his eyes trained on him. He started running, dodged a flying fist and knocked the assailant prone with an elbow to the back of his neck before he jumped out of the hollow to attack the last guy standing.

Jefferson could only shake his head as if in trance. Obviously the term super-soldier wasn’t exaggerated.

“Look what we have here,” a voice snarled way to close for his liking.

But before he had a chance to react an arm wound itself around his neck. A hand with a gun came into view, crashing down on his right hand. Pain exploded in his wrist as the butt of the gun connected with it, running along his nerves. He felt his own pistol slipping his fingers just as the arm around him pulled him back abruptly.

Stumbling he fell against the man behind him before he found his footing, a sharp jerk against his neck and increasing pressure his only reward for his clumsiness. His hands shot up and gripped the arm, trying to alleviate the pressure, as something cold and hard was pressed against his head behind his ear: the barrel of a gun.

On instinct he stopped struggling. He tried to calm down enough from the shock to think straight again, which wasn’t easy considering the constriction of his windpipe that made breathing a struggle.

_Shit! I really fucked this up!_

He’d been so goddamn absorbed in his own frustration and later in watching Steve fight that he had paid no mind at all to his surroundings. Instead of having Steve’s back – no matter if it was the plan or not, if he liked it or not, it would’ve been the right thing to do! – he’d let his emotions get the better of him. And it had made him a liability.

 _Again_!

“Are you with him? With the Captain?” the man behind him hissed in his ear.

His eyes shot out across the clearing, searching for Steve. He just fought another one of his attackers who’d recovered enough to try assaulting him again.

Jefferson wanted to say something, but he only managed a croak through his squashed throat. The arm around his neck jolted in answer, squeezing even harder.

“No talking. Just nod!”

He did, desperately, as much as he could, hoping for a release of pressure against his neck. The arm was pushing the knot of his cravat directly against his Adam’s apple. But the release never came.

“Good. You’re coming with me.”

The man started pulling him backwards, not giving an inch as he squeezed him against his chest.

Gasping for air Jefferson’s fingers tightened around the man’s arm, pulling at the appendage with all his might as he stumbled along, but it wasn’t enough. His pulse echoed through his head, frantic and heavy. And thinking straight was the last thing on his mind all of a sudden, as panic took a hold of him.

His fingers clawed at the arm, he kicked his leg back, but missing, only unbalancing himself further. He knocked his head back, hitting something, the grip around him loosened for a second. Greedily he gulped in a mouthful of air before the pressure against his throat was back.

Something connected with his head. Hard.

His vision blacked out for a moment. The pain forced a gasp out of his body, making him expel that bit of air again he’d so arduously fought for.

A hiss in his ear, but he couldn’t make out the words.

His lungs were burning. His eyes watering.

Another step.

His legs were trembling. Faltering.

His eyes were open, but he saw nothing.

Everything was blurred and dimming.

The pounding in his head got worse by the second.

And suddenly the arm was gone.

He crumpled to the floor, barely feeling it when his knee and shoulder connected with the forest floor. Gasping for breath sweet air was streaming down his sore throat, sending him into a fierce coughing fit immediately. He pressed a trembling hand against his aching chest, the other planted firmly on the floor, grounding him.

Tears were running down his face as his body struggled to breathe. The whooshing sound of his blood rushing in his ears the only thing he could hear.

A hand grabbed his upper arm out of nowhere.

_No, not again!_

_Get away from me!_

Startled, his breath hitched, starting another coughing fit as he tried to make his body move, away from the touch. But his legs felt too wobbly for any coordinated movements.

The hand vanished again, leaving him be.

Relief flooded every cell of his body. He sank further back, eyes closed, concentration only on his next breath.

He should have known that it wasn’t that easy. It never was.

The hand came back, grabbing his cravat right beneath his chin.

And his panic spiked to a new level.

With force he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of he lashed out. His arms flailed wildly, connecting hard with something, shoving it away, while his legs kicked out and pushed himself back a bit.

“GET OFF ME!”

His voice was hoarse and broke completely over the last word and it _hurt_ , but it was the first thing he heard again.

There was something else. Another sound. Something… some _one_ … talking?

“…me! Jefferson, it’s me. Steve. Calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you. You hear me? Jefferson?”

_Steve?_

_Steve!_

As his mind finally caught up with what was happening he just went slack, blinking sluggishly after a while. His rasping breaths the only sound in the forest. Tears still clouded his vision but he recognized the grey shape with the blond head next to him anyway.

“I’ll help you up now, alright?”

He nodded weakly. Steve’s grip was firm but gentle. His strength was compensating for his own weakness and with his help he found himself sitting against a tree trunk in no time. It made breathing a lot easier.

“Better?”

Again he nodded slightly.

“You should open that cravat.”

So that’s what he’d tried to do before.

“Can I leave you for a moment? I need to make sure that none of these Hydra agents gets away.”

Not trusting his voice just yet he nodded, following the blurry shape as it got away quickly.

He leaned his head back, his eyes closed and just concentrated on the rapid beating of his heart as it slowed down steadily. His fingers felt cold and shaky against his neck as he loosened the cravat a bit.

That had been way too close for his liking!

His hands were still trembling when he wiped his eyes clean with his sleeves. He blamed it on coming down from his adrenaline rush. He also started noticing all the different aches in his body. His right wrist hurt a bit and he tentatively felt along the area behind his right ear where he’d been hit. It felt tender but there was no swelling and more importantly no blood.

His throat on the other hand was more than sore and even the faintest touch against the front of his neck hurt like hell. This experience would certainly leave a bruise.

Approaching footsteps alerted him to Steve’s arrival. Looking towards him he spotted the six Hydra agents behind him at the edge of the clearing, bound by zip ties with one another and around a tree.

_Where did he get the zip ties?_

Steve knelt down beside him, worry clear on his face. “Police will be here soon. Better we make ourselves scarce. Think you can walk?”

Jefferson wasn’t sure but he felt better already so he nodded. And grabbed Steve’s offered arm.

 

(TBC)


	2. Inner Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miserable and in pain from the attack in the forest Jefferson has some trouble dealing with his role in this quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no experience with the inner workings of a tormented and/or instable mind, so I excuse any inaccuracy in advance.

 

 

_Not again!_

Jefferson closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose. With a sigh he shuffled on into the motel room, thankful for the dim lighting.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled in a throaty voice. At least talking only hurt a little bit, swallowing on the other hand was a totally different matter. Each bobbing movement of his Adam’s apple aggravated his bruised and tender neck anew.

“No you’re not.”

_Why can’t you just leave it, Steve? Why?_

They had this argument for a while now. Even before they’d reached the bike back in the woods Steve had declared his intention of taking him to a hospital. He’d refused, time and again, had downplayed his pain and used every argument he could think of but Steve just wouldn’t leave it be.

He was tired of it.

No, scratch that.

He was tired.

Just.

Plain.

Simple.

Tired.

All he wanted to do was sleep and forget this ever happened.

“Steve, really…”

“Just stop it, alright? This guy had you in a choke hold for God knows how long, so, no, you’re not _fine_. You might be able to fool yourself, but you’re not fooling me, okay? You’re voice is still raspy as hell and judging by the way you move and flinch I’d say you’ve got at least a headache, too. This is serious, Jefferson.”

He heard Steve’s frustration, his annoyance and he _got_ it. But he just couldn’t face that right now.

Yeah, maybe Steve was right and he was fooling himself. He most certainly had tried to fool Steve. But nevertheless, a hospital was out of the question!

Getting there with clear strangulation signs would only draw unwanted attention and start questions. Add his scars into the mix and you really got one unhealthy cocktail. And most of all: he hated hospitals. And he wasn’t very fond of doctors either.

Victor might be the closest thing to a friend he had but ever since he’d witnessed the things this man was capable of, the things he was willing to do… no, he had no interest at all in doctors prodding away at his neck.

“Just leave it.” He hadn’t intended to sound whiny. Too late now. „Please. No hospital.“

Steve sighed behind him, irritated.

Without looking at him Jefferson scuffled further through the room towards the bathroom at the other end, his backpack still slung over his right shoulder.

“Anyway,” he mumbled hoarsely. “I’ve had far worse.”

Footsteps told of Steve movements. A strong hand gripped his left arm and before he knew what was happening he was pulled around. The sudden change in direction and velocity left him stumbling, blinking against the dizziness and the throbbing beneath his skull.

“What?” he asked, defiant.

Steve only watched him for a moment, scrutinized him with that intense blue eyes of his. Jefferson had seen this gaze before the other day – had it really been just yesterday? This worry, but _more_ than that. A certain kind of anguish, of inner torment. It had taken him quite a while to figure this look out.

He was thinking of Bucky. Of his friend. Struggling to keep them apart, to remember that this person in front of him wasn’t the same.

And each time it was triggered by his worry.

“Alright, I’ll let it go at that.”

That came as a surprise.

“Under one condition.”

_Should’ve seen that coming_.

“As soon as you’re feeling worse, you tell me. Your neck troubles you or your headache gets worse, you tell me. You’re having trouble breathing, you tell me. IMMEDIATELY! And I’ll take you to the hospital without further arguments. Understood?”

Jefferson wanted to argue, his instincts telling him to keep this man at distance. But coming face to face with the force that was Steve Rogers, with his worry – be it directed at him or his twin – he found he couldn’t. It had been so damn long since anyone had showed honest interest in his well-being, he’d almost forgotten how it felt.

“I promise.” The words left his mouth, choked and accompanied by a painful wince, before he knew what he was doing. But he found that he meant it.

Steve looked at him a while longer, searching, until he finally nodded and let go of him.

“Good.”

The moment turned awkward soon. He needed to get away, needed some quiet to sort through the mess and chaos in his mind. With an indistinct whisper about needing a shower Jefferson turned around and practically fled into the bathroom.

He leaned against the sink, his hands clutched around the rim and his head bowed, just breathing for a moment. Collecting himself. There was dirt on his hands and under his nails and the knuckles of his left hand were bloody. Sighing he finally lifted his head, facing his reflection.

He looked awful. Absolutely awful.

His hair was a mess, his eyes were red and the dark circles underneath them and the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks were even more prominent given the sickly pallor of his face. No wonder Steve was worried.

_Had he ever seen Bucky in a similar state?_

With tentative fingers he pulled the cravat open and away, careful not to touch his tender neck. What he saw there made him swallow – only to flinch a second later at the pain. His eyes carefully averted the ugly reminder around his neck. Instead they fixed on the currently more prominent disfigurement: the angry red and swollen imprint of the knot of his cravat. He had no doubt that by tomorrow a deep purple bruise would take its place. But there was something else.

Frowning he craned his neck, inspecting the skin beneath his chin and jaw.

There was blood.

And scratches.

From his own nails.

He had done this. As he’d tried to free himself. And he hadn’t even noticed it.

He could’ve died today.

He would have if Steve hadn’t saved his ass.

After knocking his last opponent down Steve had seen his struggle with his attacker and thrown his shield to knock the guy out. At least that’s what Steve had told him but he had no reason to question his words.

_Oh God!_

The eyes of his reflection widened, staring into the distance as his trembling fingers came up to cover his mouth.

_I could’ve died. I could’ve left Grace all alone_!

This world in which Steve was living, the life he lead and the life that had been forced on his brother, this was all way beyond him. It felt unreal, like from a movie. This world was dangerous and complicated and he was just a… well, what exactly was he anyway?

A portal jumper? That time was long gone and his portal destroyed.

A Hatter? Even though Regina had thought it funny to make him one in that damn curse of hers, that was not who he was. Mad or not.

A thief? A husband? A salesman for mushrooms? He’d been all of that but not anymore.

He was a father!

God, he wanted nothing more than to hold his Grace right now.

He closed his eyes, pressing them shut. His fingers clenched around the sink. He couldn’t think of things like that. He just couldn’t. Or he’d turn around and run back to her.

But he needed to find Bucky.

He had Grace, but his family wasn’t complete.

He _needed_ Bucky!

Taking a deep breath he started undressing.

_You’re just rattled, Jefferson. That’s completely normal, well, I guess it is. All you need is a hot shower and sleep._

The hot water against his skin was bliss. He let himself be immersed by swirls of steam as the water kneaded the tense muscles of his back. Only his head wasn’t fond of the heat, pounding harder in protest. He turned the water off and grabbed a towel before he stepped out onto the rug in front of the shower. He dried his hair somewhat before he carefully dabbed against the tender skin of his throat.

He shook his head, the dull throbbing protesting against it but he just couldn’t stop.

This shouldn’t have happened.

Freaked out by super-soldiers, secret agents and fucking gun fights or not, he’d screwed up!

They were in this together yet he’d violated the most important rule there is: to have your partner’s back.

Instead he’d been careless, let himself get caught off-guard and had to be saved.

With an angry sigh he pulled the towel taught around his waist and stepped in front of the mirror again. A blurry shape looked back at him from the fogged up surface.

_You can’t even get a simple task right, Jefferson. You’re useless. Completely and utterly useless._

Indignant, he yanked his hand over the mirror, revealing a strip of clarity.

Revealing his face.

Jaw trembling and this far too familiar glint in his eyes.

_Ask yourself: do you really want to do this? Everything you touch is doomed to fail. Just look back. Look back upon all your failures. This search is doomed from the beginning. Not even a whole day and already you’ve jeopardized everything!_

_GET IT TO WORK!_

His reflection seemed to laugh at him. The madness shining bright behind that blue eyes.

No matter how far he ran, no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape from it.

_You can’t fail at this. He’s your brother. He’s too important. You_ can’t _fail!_

_GET IT TO WORK! GET IT TO WORK! GET IT! TO! WORK!!!_

He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take that person staring back at him. He took a step back, trying to get away yet unable to take his eyes off. His foot stepped on bare tile, slipping. He tumbled and his gaze was finally ripped from his reflection. Everything happened so fast that he couldn’t say how he managed to end up leaning against the wall, one hand against the floor the other still holding onto the sink. Breathing heavily he just sat there. Wet and naked, only wrapped in a flimsy towel. Scared to hell by his own personal demons.

_Get a grip, Jefferson!_

Only slowly did he let go of the sink. He leaned his head back and ran his hand over his face. It was trembling worse than ever.

_Get a grip. Get a…_

Abruptly the soft voice of his sweet Grace filled his mind: “You’re not that man anymore.”

And all of a sudden his frantic mind calmed down, his daughter’s voice like a balm on sore skin. Breathing deeply came with more ease now and the panicked rhythm of his heart quieted down as well.

_You’re not that man anymore._

She’d spoken those words so full of confidence.

_You’re not that man anymore._

He liked the sound of it.

And he liked the calm that his daughter’s believe in him brought with it.

_Come on, Jefferson. You can do this. You’re not alone in this._

_You’re not alone._

It hit him.

Clarity could be a real bitch when it came to that.

He knew now what troubled him ever since he sat down on that motorcycle. He knew why he’d been so angry when Steve had left him in the forest and why he was freaking out here and now.

It had been there all along but he hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t wanted to see it. To acknowledge it.

He wasn’t alone.

He’d always been better on his own.

Preferred it that way.

Because working with a partner never ended well. Either they betrayed him and left him behind only to end up… no, he didn’t want to go there, not even thinking about it. Or they had to pay the price for his own imprudence and stupidity with their lives.

_You’re not that man anymore!_

“God, I hope you’re right, Grace!”           

After a last deep breath he got up again. He dabbed at the remaining wet spots with the towel but most of his skin had already dried on its own by now. He removed a pair of dark grey boxer shorts and a light grey tanktop from his backpack. And his toothbrush.

The whole time while brushing his teeth he avoided looking in the mirror. One crazy episode per day was more than enough.

Fresh taste in his mouth and fresh clothes on clean skin he grabbed for the silk scarf on top of his backpack on instinct. Only stilling when the soft fabric touched the back of his neck.

He couldn’t do it.

Not today.

He always wore this scarf at night, but the mere thought of something rubbing against his neck made him wince. Let alone if the scarf got tangled up and pressed into his throat during the night.

He put it back into his bag, suddenly feeling _bare_ without it.

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to hide the scar – but that _was_ a nice side effect. No, wearing a scarf or cravat made him feel safe, the fabric acting as a way of protection.

He knew it was stupid, nevertheless…

A quick glance around the room and he picked up the discarded towel, laying it loosely around his shoulders. Before he stepped back into the main room he pushed the ends of the towel closer together in front of his neck – just because it wasn’t about hiding it didn’t mean he had to feel comfortable with it.

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a small teaser for the next chapter:
> 
> What better time to address the serious stuff than right now?  
> “I know you didn’t find Bucky in that base, but- was there anything else? Anything useful? Any clue about where he could be?” He hated how desperately hopeful he sounded.


	3. As A Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson needs to set some ground rules for this joint venture.  
> And he gets something he wasn't counting on: a glimpse of his brother.

 

The moment he stepped out of the door he felt Steve’s gaze on him. And for a moment his steps faltered, afraid the other man had heard everything before he realized that that whole episode had only played out in his head. There was nothing he could’ve heard. Except for his ungraceful collapse.

But when he braced himself to actually face him he wasn’t confronted with that worried gaze he’d been expecting – and that he came to associate with those kind blue eyes. No, there was something else there as Steve’s eyes took him in from head to toe.

At first he thought the other one was looking him over for injuries – there was actually a bruise forming at his right wrist where he’d been hit. But there was something else there, something almost painful, a kind of longing, of remembering, as if he’d see something he hadn’t seen in a very long time.

That look made him uncomfortable.

It took him a while to understand. Far longer than it should have.

He really needed to sleep.

Self-consciously he ran a hand through his damp hair, careful to avoid the tender spot behind his ear. When he spoke, his voice was even rougher than before and barely above a whisper.

“Do we look very much alike?”

Steve’s head snapped up, startled. He’d clearly been very far away just a moment ago. He swallowed and nodded, reluctantly – and a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, you remind me of the man I went to war with. You’ve got the same build.”

Steve hesitated, as if there was something else he wanted to say. But he didn’t. Instead he put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up, grabbing something from the table next to him. With slow but purposeful steps he closed the distance between them and held a light blue ice bag out for him.

“For your neck.”

Perplexed Jefferson took it and placed it against his swollen skin as he sat down on one of the beds – he laid his bag on the floor next to it. “Where did you get _that_?” he asked, looking up. For a second he blinked against the dim light of the headlight directly above Steve’s head then he gave up, it wasn’t worth the increased throbbing behind his temples.

Steve shrugged – Jefferson saw the movement of his shadow on the floor. “There’s an ice machine around the corner and I asked the receptionist if she had an ice bag. Which she did.”

The cold against his neck felt pretty good. Soothing. He closed his eyes for a moment, just reveling in the cool comfort such a simple thing could bring.

“Listen, Jefferson,” that snapped him out of his drowsy stupor and back into the here and now pretty quickly – it wasn’t so much the words but the tone that made him uneasy, “about what happened today…”

He knew it.

Steve was a soldier. And as a soldier he could tolerate such careless behavior even less than others. Jefferson had fucked up and he was ready to face it.

“… I’m really sorry!”

_What?_

Steve was apologizing to him? Why? He hadn’t done anything wrong!

“I- I don’t understand.”

The other man sat down heavily on the other bed right in front of him. He was frowning, his head cocked slightly, caught somewhere between puzzled and guilty.

“What happened back there- that’s exactly what I was afraid of. Bringing a civilian into this mess, knowing that- Hydra is everywhere out there and I’m sure they’re looking for Bucky as well. I knew something like this could happen. I should’ve protected you better. You’re not trained for this and I promised your daughter…”

Jefferson couldn’t take this litany of blame and self-doubt a second longer.

“Steve, that’s not…” But he wasn’t listening.

“… to keep you safe. And I failed today. I…“

“STOP IT!”

He wasn’t prepared for the raw, grating pain this sudden outburst brought. His whole face scrunched up against his will. Nevertheless, it had worked in the end: his rough and broken shout had shut the soldier up. Finally.

Slowly, a deep breath later, he opened his eyes again to find a startled looking Steve in front of him. Well, his lips were slightly parted – in shock or surprise, he wasn’t sure – but his eyes wouldn’t fit the picture. There was almost a touch of amusement there behind the ever present worry, together with a hint of that strange, reminiscent look from before.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 _God, his_ voice _!_

He quickly raised his hand when Steve was clearly about to say something to stop him.

“I knew what I was signing up for.” Tilting his head a bit he wrinkled his nose at that, hissing quietly. “Alright, that’s a lie. But I _knew_ that it wouldn’t be easy and possibly dangerous. I might not be trained for stuff like that but I’m not helpless, okay? I’ve got my own set of skills. What happened today was on me. I messed up. I…”

 _I didn’t expect you to save me_.

He didn’t say it.

He hadn’t been expecting any kind of help and he wasn’t sure if he was just so used to being on his own or if his last experience with Regina had left deeper marks than he’d thought.

No matter which was true, Steve wouldn’t understand.

So he said the only thing that really, really needed to be said: “Thank you. For saving my ass.”

A warm smile greeted him back. “You’re welcome, although...” As he drew out the conjunction the corners of his mouth raised into a cheeky grin, mirroring the movement of his right brow. “… the way I remember it your ass was in much less trouble than your throat.”

Laughing hurt, but it felt good.

Easy and comfortable.

It wasn’t hard to see why his brother liked this man. Why he’d picked him as his best friend.

Since he hadn’t been able to be there himself, he was at least glad that his brother had found a friend like this. Honest and decent and brave and funny and _true_.

That thought sobered him up again, leaving him melancholy. Tired, he rubbed his eyes and blinked them open again.

What better time to address the serious stuff than right now?

“I know you didn’t find Bucky in that base, but- was there anything else? Anything useful? Any clue about where he could be?” He hated how desperately hopeful he sounded.

Steve shook his head. “It could have been Bucky. The remaining agents inside were all dead and the charge was placed in the computer main frame, destroying all the data. But there’s no real evidence. And no clue as to where to look now.”

_That’s the reason you shouldn’t get your hopes up, Jefferson._

He nodded. He’d expected as much.

„Steve,“ he started, unsure how to phrase his concerns. „I can’t do something like today again. Not without more information. Not without knowing the plan.”

Steve leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and listening tentatively. That was such a new and unexpected experience – someone listening to him, wanting to hear him out and taking his opinion into regard – that he was actually faltering for a moment.

“Um- I- I need to know more about S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra and what’s the current status on that front. I need to be able to assess the situation next time I see people in black creeping around the woods, to tell apart foe from possible backup. I need to know how Hydra works, what kind of training I can expect from their agents. And next time you’re making a plan,” he locked his gaze with Steve’s, intent on getting the message across, “ _involve_ me in it.”

He saw the protest coming and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“I’m not saying you should send me in somewhere, guns blazing. God, that would most likely only get us both killed. No, what I’m saying is, I want to be a part of the progress. I want to know what each of us is supposed to do. When I saw those men today I had no idea if I was supposed to warn you – let alone how – or if I…”

His voice had turned increasingly raucous over his long monologue before it finally broke completely. He cleared his throat, wincing.

Steve stood up and a short while later a small glass of water was hovering in front of his face. Blinking sluggishly Jefferson focused on the other man and managed a smile as he took it and drank. Swallowing hurt like hell but at the same time the cold water soothed his aching throat a bit. Enough that he could croak out a ‘thanks’ afterwards.

Meanwhile Steve had sat down again, regarding him contemplatively while his index finger was tracing his lips in thought.

“You’re right. And I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but it has to wait until tomorrow.”

“I…”

The other man interrupted him immediately. “You’re in pain. And you’re exhausted. Go to bed. Sleep. Rest. And tomorrow we’ll start this search. Only this time we’ll do it right. Together. As a team.“

A team.

_A team._

The uneasiness at that formed quickly into a lump in his throat.

He couldn’t think of that now. Not again.

„Do you have a picture of him? Of Bucky?”

Bewildered Steve leaned back, eyes widening in surprise at the sudden change in topic. After hesitating for a moment he nodded.

“Sure.”

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and opened it. A fond smile graced his lips as his eyes lingered on something inside Jefferson couldn’t see. Sighing he pushed a small picture out with his thumb and handed it over.

Jefferson took it carefully. It was old and scuffed at the edges and it made his breath hitch.

He was looking at his brother. For the first time in over 50 years he was actually _looking_ at him. If only in a small black and white photography. He pressed his lips together when his jaw muscles started trembling, but it wasn’t enough, so he raised his hand, covering his mouth with it. The telltale burn of tears bit into his eyes. He blinked, couldn’t afford tears when he needed his eyes, needed to see, to trace every line on that face.

He huffed out a laugh at the ridiculous looking military hat he was wearing. And the irony. _The twins with the big hats._

And suddenly he understood the longing he’d seen earlier on Steve’s face for he felt it, too. That desperate wish to get him back.

Looking at the picture was almost like looking in the mirror. Almost, but yet so different. Safer and grounding compared to the mockery and madness that was lurking in his reflection, but also so much more painful.

Seeing Bucky, not just knowing that Steve knew his brother, but _seeing_ the _proof_ of it right here in his hands, made him aware again of that gaping hole in his soul. The one his loss had ripped open. The one whose constant quiet aching he’d learned to live with.

But looking at the picture now he knew he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t go back to the life he’d been living. Where half of himself was missing.

He needed to find him.

Because he knew, somewhere deep inside, Bucky must feel the same.

Composing himself by breathing out slowly he tore his gaze away from the picture, holding it out to Steve reluctantly and sending the other man a grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

Steve shook his head, a wistful expression on his face.

“Keep it.”

The lump in his throat grew even bigger. Overwhelmed with that gesture he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit on it. All the while he felt the corners of his mouth twitch unsure if he wanted to smile or cry.

“You really should get some rest now.”

Steve was right.

He stood up, the picture in one hand, the other holding the ice bag against his neck, when suddenly his head felt woozy, the pounding rhythm of his headache thumping in his ears. Or was it the blood rushing in his temples?

Or the other way round?

A hand grabbed his shoulder and steadied him as he swayed. Steve. Catching the falling ice bag with his other hand.

He blinked.

“Sorry,” he mumbled when Steve lead him around his bed, where he lifted the covers and helped him sit down.

“I don’t think you need that anymore.”

Jefferson wasn’t sure what he was talking about. The next moment he felt the towel being removed from his shoulders. Something about that action should make him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t remember what.

That’s when he heard the hiss.

“Jeez, Jefferson! What… what _happened_?”

_Happened? What was he talking about?_

_He was strangled. But he knew that, didn’t he?_

Movement made him blink again and Steve was kneeling before him now, a hand raised carefully. Then he felt it. The soft touch of a finger against the side of his neck, tracing the line of his scar.

_Oh. That._

His head felt so damn heavy and it hurt and all he wanted to do was lie down. So he pulled his legs up, pushed his feet under the covers and let his upper body sink into the mattress. Lying on his side he was still facing Steve.

Steve, who’d asked a question.

_What happened?_

As if that question was so easily answered.

“Working in a team,” he mumbled. “Trusting the wrong person.”

Steve was suddenly in his blurry line of sight again.

“I’d never betray you like that. I hope you know that.”

_I do._

_But that leaves only one other option how this will end._

_And that one is even worse._

Jefferson never noticed when Steve took the picture out of his fingers and laid it on the bedside table. Or when he pulled the covers over him for he was already fast asleep.

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your opinion!
> 
>  
> 
> And again a quick teaser for the next chapter:  
> Steve opened the door, shield in front of his body. Pale sunlight filtered into the room, illuminating tiny dust particles that were dancing in the air, and the barrel of a gun that was hovering mere inches from Steve’s temple.


	4. This Time It Is Personal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know you're in trouble when your super-soldier company gets anxious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know. I'll post another chapter on Saturday, then I'll be on holidays for two and a half weeks, so there will be a longer break between chapter 5 and 6.
> 
> This chapter will contain violence.

 

Jefferson woke up to a hand pressed over his mouth.

Instantly his eyes snapped wide open and his hands shot up to pry it away and fight off his attacker, every single movement accompanied by pounding heartbeats. But before he’d gotten his arms even halfway raised a quiet ‘ssh’ directed his eyes to the figure crouching next to his bed. A very familiar figure.

He stilled, hands in mid-air, eyes focused on Steve. Still breathing heavily he finally noticed that the palm covering his mouth was pressing down gently, more a gesture to be quiet than an actual restriction. The next moment the hand pulled back, letting him go, leaving him – nonetheless – relieved.

Jefferson had no idea what was going on, but it was pretty obvious that _something_ had happened. Steve was tense next to him and his eyes were flitting towards the windows every few seconds.

“Get dressed. We need to go.“

With that few quietly hissed words Steve got up again and stepped slowly over to the side of the window, keeping out of direct sight as best he could to peek out into pale light – it must be very early morning.

Every move of his, every expression on his face screamed ‘soldier mode’.

Even though his heart had calmed down a bit Jefferson was most definitely wide awake now. And in this moment he was really grateful that he wasn’t new to situations like this one. ‘Time for an unexpected, inconspicuous clear out’, that’s what he’d always called those situations.

With one quick but not hectic motion he pushed himself out from under the covers to kneel next to his bed and his backpack, happy to learn that his pounding headache had abated to a dull ache. Swallowing still hurt though.

He grabbed his pair of jeans he’d placed on top of everything in his bag the other night and stood up to put it on. Steve was still gazing out the window, already dressed in beige slacks and a light blue T-Shirt that left barely anything of his incredible physique up to the imagination.

_Really not the right time to get jealous, Jefferson!_

“What’s going on?” he whispered, his voice still terribly hoarse. At least speaking didn’t hurt as much as the other day.

He sat down on the end of the bed and put his boots on, tying the laces while looking up, waiting for an answer.

Steve turned towards him, a quizzical expression on his face as he regarded him for a moment.

Jefferson had a pretty good idea of what was going through Steve’s head right now. Most likely he’d expected him to stumble around in panic or something. Especially after his shameful performance yesterday.

_Well, sorry to disappoint._

_No, not sorry._

_This is kind of my area, after all._

Although, to be honest, his own ‘unexpected inconspicuous clear outs’ had been a bit different.

_Gracefully he lifted his arm to lead the lovely young lady in front of him into a slow spin, admiring every inch of exposed skin stretching delicately from a slender neck down to the rather nice curve of her breasts. As always the guards chose the most inopportune moment to realize their failure. He’d just wanted to enjoy one dance._

_The captain of the guard slipped into the room, discreetly whispering to the King’s advisor._

_Time to go!_

_Instead of pulling his dancing partner close again after her spin he stepped back, an apologetic look on his face._

_“I’m deeply saddened that our wonderful dance has to come to an untimely end, milady, but I fear one of my business partners has spotted me and I’ve evaded his company already for far too long.”_

_“Will you come find me again?”_

_A flirtatious smile graced his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of letting such a beautiful lady out of my sight for long.”_

_One last kiss on her hand later he moved between the party guests, hidden in plain sight as one of them until he vanished unseen in a small side corridor – his satisfied smirk only dulled a bit by missing out on that stunning cleavage._

_The weight of the stolen, golden locket in the inside pocket of his dress coat pressed reassuringly against his chest._

Nonetheless, the basics always stayed the same: assess the situation, get your stuff together, act quick and efficient, keep a cool head and never rush things. Rushing things only led to sloppy mistakes and attracting unwanted attention.

Steve retreated back to his own bed where his neatly packed saddle bag was already ready.

“Something’s not right. I think we’re being watched.”

Done with his shoes Jefferson closed his backpack and stood up, grabbing the picture of his brother from the nightstand. He picked up his motorcycle jacket from the floor where he’d left it the evening before, pushing the picture into its breast pocket and closing the zipper to keep it safe inside.

“What do we do? Sneak out through the bathroom window?“

Steve shook his head, grabbing his bag and holding it out for Jefferson to take. “No, I need to know what we’re dealing with. Take our stuff, keep behind me and be ready to run.”

He watched Steve pick up his shield, stepping up to the door. Jefferson followed him, wary and careful to keep between Steve, the bathroom door and the window, prepared for each of these possibilities.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins felt exhilarating.

Stimulating. And so very familiar.

He knew he shouldn’t feel this way, but part of him had missed this.

The danger.

The thrill.

Steve opened the door, shield in front of his body. Pale sunlight filtered into the room, illuminating tiny dust particles that were dancing in the air, and the barrel of a gun that was hovering mere inches from Steve’s temple.

Jefferson had never seen one with his own eyes, but he knew the suppressor for what it was.

Steve froze, tensing up even more. Jefferson knew he was preparing himself to fight, after everything he’d witnessed the day before he just _knew_ it.

_Who’s crazy now?_

Whoever this was, he was most likely after Steve. Maybe they didn’t even know Jefferson was here. Well, all the better for him.

They had a plan and he was sure to keep to it this time. Turning around he quickly scanned the window, disregarding it since it was in the line of sight from the door, and decided for the bathroom window.

He barely made two steps when a deep murmur carried through the quiet of the room.

“One wrong move – from _either_ one of you – and I’ll shoot, so…”

Jefferson stopped dead in his tracks, breath hitching in his chest. This had turned sour pretty damn fast!

“… what about you taking a nice step back, Cap. No need to involve the neighbors, don’t you think?”

He heard Steve’s soft steps while retreating and the door clicking shut again.

“Put the shield down! And you! Put the bags on the floor and turn around. Slowly.“

He knew when it was time to play along if one valued one’s life. This was one such moment. At least until a window of opportunity presented itself.

Avoiding any hectic movements Jefferson let Steve’s saddle bags slip to the ground next to a bed and placed his bag and jacket beside it. To make sure that he wasn’t considered a threat he held his hands out at his sides and turned slowly.

The man standing across from Steve, pointing a gun at the super-soldier’s chest, wasn’t exactly what he’d expected.

The guy was well built and all in black: boots, combat trousers, shirt, fingerless gloves, even his hair. Two straps were crossing at his chest, maybe weapon holsters? He wasn’t sure.

Well, none of that was actually surprising.

What Jefferson hadn’t seen coming was his face.

The skin was one giant amount of scar tissue, a motley of angry red and waxy pale, distorting his face into an irate grimace. It seemed as if his whole face got severely burned. It looked surreal somehow. And scary. And very, very painful.

Jefferson winced.

That’s when he noticed that the exposed arms of the guy were just the same: scars from burns covering every inch of skin.

“Rumlow,” Steve growled. “How is that even possible?“

Rumlow – so Steve knew the guy – grinned, a horribly contorted version of a grin. A shiver ran down Jefferson’s spine. This guy was a whole new level of creepy – considering the standards of this world; he would fit beautifully into Wonderland, though.

“Oh, come on, Cap. You’re not the only one who’s hard to kill.“

“It’s only been three weeks.”

“Oh, that,” Rumlow laughed, the possible humor of the situation totally eluding Jefferson. “Impressive, right?” He turned his face a bit as if to display the scarred skin even more. “Hydra had decades to learn about enhancing a body’s abilities, about improving healing processes. They had a good test subject after all.”

Jefferson couldn’t follow anymore. Some parts of the picture were missing, enough so he couldn’t make sense of the rest.

Still wracking his brain to understand he was caught off guard when Steve moved out of nowhere. His arm shot up, intent on pushing the hand with the gun aside. At the same time he leaned forward, his other hand lunging for a hard punch.

SNAP.

Such a soft and unimpressive sound yet the effect was anything but.

The gun was twitching. Steve jerked back a bit, his movements faltering in precision and strength. Rumlow knocked his arms out of the way, leaned back and kicked him in his midsection.

Groaning, Steve stumbled back, surprise and pain in his face as he crashed against the wall.

Only when his left hand grabbed at his side did Jefferson realize the blood.

_Steve!_

_Fuck!_

_He shot him! He actually shot him!_

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

Part of him screamed at him to make a run for it, to use this Rumlow guy’s distraction to bolt. The other part wanted to hurry over to Steve and help him. But he wasn’t stupid. He’d never make it. Neither one of his options. This guy would shoot him if he moved. Without a second thought. He’d proven it very clearly.

_He shot Steve! HE SHOT STEVE!_

_Just like that!_

Jefferson stared at the super-soldier, his eyes drawn to the red blood that soaked into his shirt, that coated his fingers. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

_Think Jefferson. THINK!_

His mind was racing through possibilities, one more absurd then the other and none feasible.

“Try that again and next time I’ll hit closer to home!” To emphasize his words Rumlow jerked his weapon once towards Steve’s chest, leaving no room for misunderstandings.

As Jefferson tore his gaze away from the gun in the crazy guy’s hand he suddenly found himself facing the intense stare of dangerous dark eyes.

“My, my! Look at that!” Rumlow chuckled, his whole mannerism completely unaffected by what he’d just done. He faced Steve again, but nodding in Jefferson’s direction. “Got yourself a new one, huh? What? Disappointed with the changes on the last model?”

Jefferson’s jaw clenched immediately. This guy knew his brother. He was Hydra and _knew_ his brother. And he mocked the things they’d done to him.

_How dare you, you asshole!_

“Leave him out of this!” Steve pressed out through gritted teeth.

Rumlow shrugged before he grabbed the soldier’s upper arm and yanked him away from the wall towards the beds. And as if that wasn’t enough already he then shoved him hard between the shoulder blades, making him stumble.

“Sit!” he pointed at the bed next to Jefferson and fished something out of his pockets that he threw at Steve. A zip tie. “Bind his hands.” Again Rumlow was nodding at Jefferson.

Steve hesitated a moment, assessing the Hydra agent out of the corner of his eyes.

Jefferson watched Steve carefully and their gazes locked in the end as Steve held out the zip tie. He was trying to tell him something, a message, just conveyed through his eyes.

Jefferson wasn’t sure what he meant. He just knew the other man for what, two days? How was he supposed to understand? It didn’t matter anyway. He raised his hands and let himself be bound. There was no other choice but to comply apart from getting a bullet in his head.

Rumlow checked it afterwards, making sure that the tie was cutting into his wrists – directly into his already tender bruise. With an impatient jerk of his gun he ordered him to sit down on the floor with his back against the nightstand. Rumlow himself stepped backwards to the table and pulled a chair out, shoving it against the opposite bed. He sat down, lounging back, his weapon never leaving Steve who crouched on the bed, left hand covering the bleeding wound in his side.

“What do you want, Rumlow?”

He shook his head slowly, the same cruel mockery of a smile on his scarred face.

“Imagine that for a moment. There I am, putting a stray dog in its place when I get a call, telling me that Captain Fucking America is running around Portage Lake. I had to see for myself.”

“Well,” Steve sighed, somewhere between resigned and annoyed, “you’ve seen me now.”

The corners of Jefferson’s mouth twitched at that.

Rumlow on the other hand wasn’t amused at all. Instead he sat up straight, shoulders taut and his free hand balled into a fist upon his thigh. “I was hoping to be the one to find you. I wanted to be the one to find you. To kill you. This time it _is_ personal!” The joy that flickered over his face at that words was quickly replaced by anger again. Only this time it also bled into his voice.

“You destroyed the best chance the world ever had for order. You undid years – _decades_ – of work!”

“Always a pleasure,” Steve huffed.

Rumlow’s jaw worked and his nostrils blew out, a movement that pulled at the scars on his cheek. “Don’t get me wrong, Cap. You’ve ruined _one_ plan, that’s all. Did you really think Hydra had just that one ace up his sleeve? There’re other plans at work, you merely cut off one head. Did you really think you’ve won? Hydra is everywhere!”

Jefferson watched both of them closely, alternating from one to the other, looking for anything useful. A weakness in the Hydra agent’s demeanor, something he could use against him should he manage to get him distracted. A sign that Steve had a plan to get them out of this situation.

Anything.

So far the only flaw he’d detected in Rumlow’s scheme was that he diverted almost all of his attention towards Steve. And he’d be damned if he didn’t use that. While listening closely – although not really getting what it was all about – he nudged his backpack with his foot, pulling and pushing it closer, inch by inch, careful to keep it close to the bed and out of sight.

“But you know what really pisses me off? You _broke_ our _asset_!” Rumlow hissed, his fury vibrating in the air. But with a quick jerk of his head and a dismissive wave of his hand he calmed down again. At least somewhat. “It’s not so much that you deprived Pierce of his favorite instrument, his ‘fist of Hydra’. No, it’s how fuckin’ _easy_ it was!”

Jefferson saw Steve tense. He frowned at the sudden change. What were they talking about? Fist of Hydra?

_What’s that supposed to… Wait, did he say asset?_

“Years of conditioning and wiping his memories all for nothing because of what you said to him at that bridge. One stupid little word!”

Jefferson was all ears. He was talking about Bucky. There was no doubt left.

“He recognized you, you know? Not by name, but he knew that he _knew_ you. Even asked about you.”

He inched closer to the bed frame, leaning his backpack against his right thigh. All he needed was to get into the main compartment. The tie cut deeper into his skin as he moved his hands, but he managed to grab the zipper. Carefully he began pulling it open, very slowly to not alarm anyone to what he was doing.

And all the while he fought to stay calm. His brother hadremembered something, even before he got away from Hydra. So Steve was right, his brother was still in there, somewhere. There was still hope.

“He did?” Steve straightened, surprise coloring his tone, before he balled his right hand into the sheets and growled: “What did you do to him?”

An amused chuckle filled the room. He hated that mocking sound.

“What do you think? Pierce had him wiped again.”

The zipper was finally open. Slowly Jefferson pushed his hands into the compartment, past his clothes. He nudged something hard. Confused for a moment – _it should be in the inside pocket at the front –_ he felt more closely with his fingers until he remembered the stone figure he’d packed in his haste yesterday. It might come in handy but since he didn’t know exactly how it worked it was out of the question right now.

“Must be a pretty painful process, a memory wipe. I still heard his screams when I left the room.”

He pressed his eyes shut and clamped his jaw. This bastard was _there_ when they hurt his brother. When they took away his essence, his memories. The stuff that made him a human being.

Something cold grazed his fingertips.

He pushed his hands deeper and pulled back.

Finally he had an advantage at his disposal.

Now he had his gun.

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind me hurting Steve... ;)
> 
> Any opinions? Anything you want to share? Just type a few words :)  
> I love to hear from you!
> 
> And at last a tiny teaser for the next chapter:  
> Rumlow was scrutinizing him. Jefferson held his gaze, staring back, his anger clear on his face. 
> 
> See you on Saturday!


	5. Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow is enyoing his taunting a bit too much.  
> Steve is probably planning something really stupid.  
> And Jefferson... well... see for yourselves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter definitely falls under the VIOLENCE warning.

 

“Maybe I should take your new friend here back to Hydra.”

Jefferson looked up at that, his eyes jumping immediately to Rumlow who was still leaning forward on his chair, his gaze mostly on Steve but occasionally switching to him, sneering.

Steve let go of the sheet – and his wounded side – keeping his arms at his side.

_What is he planning? He’s not going to try to disarm him again, is he?_

“I said it before. Leave him out of this!”

Rumlow tilted his head a bit. “Why? Hydra is an asset short thanks to you. I think it’s only fair if you supply us with a new candidate. And this one’s just perfect!”

The tension in his body made Jefferson feel like a taut rubber band. Jumpy and ready to burst into action. He wanted to draw his gun and use it to threaten this bastard, to take his gun away and knock him out with all his might. But this guy was a trained – soldier? Spy? Assassin? He had no idea. He couldn’t risk facing him with an unloaded weapon.

Well, his magazine was full, but the chamber wasn’t.

He knew how to handle a gun. Had actually done it more often than he cared to think about, back in the desperate hours of his lonely imprisonment. He could do it without looking. But he couldn’t do it without making a sound.

Rumlow was scrutinizing him. Jefferson held his gaze, staring back, his anger clear on his face. He really hoped his hands and his bag weren’t visible from the agent’s position.

_If they were you’d be dead already._

“Well, he looks weak compared to the last one, but then, that scar tells a different story. Sure, a little work needs to be done. Nothing a bit of training and a few rounds of brainwashing and wiping can’t do, though.”

“Never!” Jefferson spat out. Defiance all over his face.

All the while his hands worked in his bag, step by step. He buried them beneath his clothes, together with the weapon. He pulled the slide back, hoping the layers of fabric would be enough to muffle the clicking sound of the retracting slide.

His heart sped up a notch. He saw Steve glancing over his shoulder at him, as if to remind himself of something. Of his presence? Suddenly he realized it. He was the only reason Steve hadn’t tried to fight Rumlow. The soldier was worried for _him_ , for _his_ safety. Otherwise he’d do the stupid thing and charge into battle. Jefferson was sure of it.

_You stupid idiot!_

_Well, reminds me of my younger self._

Rumlow laughed at him. And Jefferson didn’t hesitate. He let go and the slide clicked shut, bullet in the chamber. The sound lost under shirts and laughter. “You don’t get a vote, bud! Seriously,” the agent turned towards Steve again, “where did you find him? Some distant cousin of your old pal? You got lonely and Stark cloned you a toy?”

Jefferson kept his eyes on Rumlow as he drew his hands out and pushed the bag aside. With subtle movements he pulled his legs closer and under his hip, so that he could get to his knees and then to his feet easily and fast.

Back in his days as a portal jumper he’d been impulsive and constantly on edge, ready for the next trip, the next dangerous adventure. These last decades on the other hand had taught him one thing: patience.

At least to a certain degree.

At least if necessary.

Nevertheless, right now he was glad for it.

He’d come this far. All he needed to do now was waiting for the opportune moment.

“He could take Barnes’ place, become the Winter Soldier. Well, we’d need to cut his arm off first. Can’t have a ghost without a metal arm, right?”

Jefferson would rather die than becoming a weapon of…

_Wait… did he say…_

It took a moment until the words sank in, until he could actually grasp their meaning. Shock made his mouth fall open. He blinked, his heart skipping a beat.

_Need to cut his arm off._

He pressed his mouth shut, his jaw clenching.

_They’d cut off his arm!_

His fingers clenched around the gun, his blood rushing in his ears.

_THEY HAD CUT OFF HIS BROTHER’S ARM!!!_

He’d no idea when he got up. But suddenly he was kneeling, his bound hands in front of him. “You did WHAT?”

Rumlow yanked his weapon towards him, his eyes wide in surprise.

CRACK.

The agent jerked.

A soft sound.

Something darted past him.

CRACK.

Another jerk.

A cry.

Rumlow’s weapon fell to the floor.

He was on his feet now.

CRACK.

A hand grabbed his ones, pushing them down.

Pulling the gun from his fingers.

He blinked.

Stared ahead.

Rumlow lay on the chair, blood dripping from his arm. More blood soaking his chest. Steve was suddenly there, kicking the bastard’s weapon to the end of the room.

Jefferson just blinked.

And stared.

Rumlow twitched, blood was staining his lips. He looked right back at him.

With surprise.

And… respect?

There was a rushing sound in his ears.

Steve pushed the sheet against Rumlow’s chest. It turned red instantly.

Rumlow’s lips moved, grinned.

Steve’s head jerked towards him, grabbing his chin.

Dark eyes closed. His body sagged.

Steve touched his neck, searching, but then stepped back.

Rumlow was dead.

Jefferson still stared.

At the glistening patches on dark fabric.

At red stained sheets.

At red drops, dripping from an arm to the floor.

So much red.

He couldn’t breathe.

_I killed him._

Someone grabbed his hands. Tugged at them.

He blinked, tore his eyes away from the red to find Steve in front of him. He was looking at him, his lips moving, but there was only that rushing sound. Another tug. He gazed back at his hands. They were shaking. Steve threw the knife away – knife? – and pulled the zip tie off. Then Steve bent down, retrieved some cloth from somewhere and pressed it against Jefferson’s left arm.

He didn’t understand. Followed the movement.

There was red.

He was bleeding.

Steve yanked at the cloth and wrapped it around his arm, pulling it tight. His mobile was tucked between his ear and shoulder. And he was talking. Fast.

Jefferson‘s gaze turned back. Back to the body.

_I killed him._

He’d seen red. Had been furious.

He hadn’t been thinking. Only acting.

_What makes you think, I won’t kill you after everything you’ve done? – Because you don’t have it in you._

Regina had been so sure about it, had taunted him with it. But she’d been wrong.

So wrong.

And it terrified him.

Something blocked his view. It was Steve, standing between him and Rumlow. He was grabbing Jefferson’s upper arms, cautious to avoid the wound there.

“I killed him.”

It was just a whisper, yet it reverberated through his skull. And with it came the rest. The sound of erratic breathing. Loud voices from somewhere outside. All the noises were coming back, making him feeling raw and vulnerable.

He swallowed.

It hurt.

Steve was looking at him, all serious. But his eyes were sad.

“I know, Jefferson. Others have heard the shots. We have to leave. _Now_!”

He nodded, more a reflex than understanding. But when Steve gave him the motorcycle jacket, he pulled it on awkwardly. His backpack was next, then the helmet. Steve was in his brown leather jacket already. In the end he had to take the straps of Jefferson’s helmet out of his trembling hands and close them himself – and zip his jacket up as well.

Jefferson had no idea what to do. He was grateful for Steve’s hand at his back which steered him outside to the motorcycle. He didn’t look up or around, just stood there as Steve fastened his bag to the bike. He was merely going through the motions, getting on behind the soldier, grabbing a hold onto him and not letting go.

Steve drove on, slowing down at the next side street. A black SUV was parked there.

The next moment the engine roared and they sped along.           

 

 

Seemingly endless amounts of trees flew by.

Jefferson couldn’t tell how long they’d been on the road. He felt adrift, his hold on Steve the only thing grounding him at the moment. He leaned close against the other man, hands at his sides and his head resting against his shoulder, needing the contact.

He’d killed someone.

Actually _killed_ someone.

That hadn’t been the plan. He’d wanted to threaten, to knock unconscious, never to kill.

He’d just made him so damn _angry_.

_We’d need to cut his arm off first._

Whenever Jefferson closed his eyes he saw his face. Saw Rumlow lying there, choking on his own blood, all surprised.

So he kept his eyes open, tried to escape his own actions that way. But he couldn’t.

The blood was burned into his eyes.

Dripping to the floor.

Soaking black shirt and white sheet alike.

Staining burned skin.

_He deserved it!_

It didn’t matter how often he repeated it in his head. No matter if he truly believed it or not. It didn’t change anything.

He killed a man.

Shot him point blank.

Three times.

_Three times._

He hadn’t even hesitated.

But Rumlow had not _just_ been surprised. There’d been something else.

And he was sure now that it had been respect.

Respect for the man who’d outwitted him.

Who’d been faster.

Who’d done what he hadn’t thought him capable of.

He didn’t want to be that man.

_I don’t want your damn respect!_

_I don’t want the respect of the cruel bastard who watched my brother suffer._

_I don’t want the respect of a killer!_

He was still shaky, feeling absolutely awful and dirty.

Steve suddenly grabbed his left hand, startling him. Pulled his fingers away from his side one by one, gently loosening his tight grip.

Jefferson merely watched, uncomprehending. Until he saw the red stains on Steve’s fingers.

_Oh God, the shot. Steve had been shot._

How could he forget that?

And then he realized where his hand had been all this time.

_Jefferson you complete and utterly useless and egoistic jerk!_

He’d hurt Steve.

He’d hurt the man who’d saved his life.

And he’d been so immersed in his own misery that he hadn’t even noticed it!

Steve had found him, had believed him and given him hope of finding Bucky again. After all these years. He’d even saved him from being strangled.

And how did he repay him? By constantly being a liability. By hindering him and hurting him.

By murdering someone right in front of him.

He shook his head, trying to shut it all out.

No, this had to end. Once and for all. He needed to make up for his mistakes. He needed to start being useful.

He needed a new focus.

Anything to stop him from thinking about blood and surprise and fucking respect.

Determined he put his hand lower against Steve’s hip where he was sure to cause no pain.

Not long after that they passed a small town, smaller than Storybrooke, but just as ordinary looking. Hopefully, looks weren’t deceiving everywhere.

As soon as he spotted what he’d been searching for, he raised one hand and patted it against Steve’s chest to get his attention while leaning closer to his ear.

“Pull over!”

He practically jumped down from the motorcycle when Steve stopped at the side of the street.

“Jefferson? What’s…”

Buzzing with nervous energy, with the urge to _move_ , to _do_ something – to run away from his own thoughts – he was bouncing up and down on his heels next to Steve, interrupting him blatantly. With an overexcited gesture and a grin he pointed back over his shoulder.

“I’m back in a minute.”

The moment he turned and left a taken aback Steve behind, the smile slipped from his face. It had felt wrong anyway. Stretched and thin.

“Jefferson, wait!”

_You need to get a grip, Jefferson!_

_You know what to do, so_ do _it!_

He quickened his pace and hurried away.

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What makes you think, I won’t kill you after everything you’ve done?" – "Because you don’t have it in you."  
> (This dialoge between Jefferson and Regina is from the episode 'An Apple Red as Blood' from Season 1).
> 
> I'm really sorry to put Jefferson through even more emotional turmoil... okay, no... actually I'm not ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter will follow in around two and a half weeks, as soon as I'm back from my holiday.  
> Until then you'll have to make do with this teaser (but since I'm away for a while you'll get two):
> 
> He should never have come. Working with a partner was a bad idea. He should never have dragged Steve into this.
> 
> “Just a second,” a voice sounded from around a corner. “I wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour.” An elderly woman came bustling in, wiping her hands with a towel. Her eyes widening as soon as she took him in. “Dear Lord, you look terrible, son! Is everything alright?”


	6. Facing Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson faces his actions. Well, at least partly. In his own way. Somehow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm back again from my holiday, so I thought, why not reward you for the long wait with same comfort to all the (emotional) hurt from the chapter before.  
> Well, I guess you could call it comfort... in a way... you have to decide for yourself if you'd call it that or not.

 

 

Jefferson didn’t wait for Steve to comply instead he pulled down the zipper of his jacket, slipped it off, wincing, and threw it onto the bed.

_Damn, his arm hurt._

The burning had started somewhere along the ride but ever since he started moving around it really stung. He glanced at his arm, recognizing the makeshift bandage as the sleeve of one of his expensive shirts. Only then did he look around the simple, but comfy room with its small table and the double bed with sunny, yellow sheets.

He took a deep breath and placed the contents of his plastic bag from the drugstore on the table: wound dressing, adhesive tape and some antiseptic agent.

He felt better now, less jittery than before. Following his plan, _doing_ something had helped. Even if it had only been a bit of shopping with a worried and angry looking blond pacing the sidewalk in front of the drugstore. Maybe he should have told Steve what he’d intended to do before he’d left like that.

_What’s done is done, Jefferson._

Winning the argument with Steve about stopping in a motel – even though they’d ended up in a tiny B&B that they’d spotted by chance instead – to treat his injury, had helped even better, giving him back the feeling that he was in control again.

If not in control of himself, then at least in control of something.

The most effective part in calming him down again though had been his interaction with the owner, because it had been so normal compared to everything else lately.

_A bell chimed as he opened the door._

_“Just a second,” a voice sounded from around a corner. “I wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour.” An elderly woman came bustling in, wiping her hands with a towel. Her eyes widening as soon as she took him in. “Dear Lord, you look terrible, son! Is everything alright?”_

_Jefferson blinked, completely taken off-guard by such an unexpected welcome. Stuttering for a moment – had she really called him_ son _? – he got his bearings back and put on a sheepish smile. It was surprisingly easy, as was the lie._

_“We were on the road the whole night…”_

_“And now you need a break. Yeah, I can see_ that _.”_

_She pulled a book out of a drawer and asked him for his name, writing it down._

_The chime sounded again as Steve entered behind him. The lady’s eyes flickered up and across them both. “Two rooms it is, then.”_

_“One will do just fine,” he said immediately. They needed to talk and dress some wounds, nothing they’d need two rooms for. Only when he saw her eyes widen, saw the way she surveyed them again, this time more thorough, did he realize how this must look now._

_He barely kept himself from palming his face. Heat crept into his cheeks, wondering if Steve understood the implication. Wondering if it was too late to backpedal. Wondering how the old lady might react._

_He needn’t have worried._

_She grinned and winked at him._

_Actually_ winked!

_“One room it is, then.” She fetched a key from a keyboard. “Room 3, just up the stairs, second door left. You know what, I’ll make you something to eat. You look like you need it.”_

_“There’s really no need for that…” He started before he remembered that their last meal had been a sandwich at a gas station before they’d reached the base at Portage Lake._

_“Nonsense! Now go, freshen up, I’ll call you when… no, you know what, sweetheart? I’ll make an exception and bring it upstairs.”_

Still, seeing the dark red stains on Steve as he slowly headed towards him, his jacket discarded on the hook next to the door, his throat constricted painfully.

_This is your fault, Jefferson!_

He should never have come. Working with a partner was a bad idea. He should never have dragged Steve into this.

_You bring bad luck, Jefferson! If not to yourself than surely to the people around you._

Steve looked pale, especially against the blood that soaked part of his shirt and even the waistband of his pants.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Now come on, take it off!” With his nerves stretched thin, learned patience was quickly forgotten in favor of his innate impatience.

Steve hesitated for a moment before he finally stripped off his shirt. He tried to hide it, but Jefferson spotted him wincing.

He sat down on one chair, opening the bottle of antiseptic. As he saw Steve still standing he merely raised an eyebrow at him.

The soldier rolled his eyes, before inspecting his bloody side – at least it had stopped bleeding. “It’s just a scratch.”

Jefferson’s eyes widened at that understatement of the year. He jumped up, right into the personal space of the blond man. “You got _shot_! That’s not a scratch! You could have been _killed_! Now _sit down_!“ Irritated and fed up with all this downplaying-bullshit he put his hand on the soldier’s shoulders and pushed him down into the other chair. “And don’t move!”

After washing his hands in the bathroom – the soap stung in the abrasions on his knuckles – he started opening the first pack of wound dressing as he heard Steve sigh.

“Seriously, it’s almost a graze wound.“

“Almost.”

„Jefferson!“ That tone and the use of his name made him look up, clenching his teeth at the pity in his eyes. And the sadness. “You don’t have to do this.”

That was too much, causing his shaky equilibrium to rock.

“I. KILLED. Someone.”

Each and every word was carefully pronounced, his shaky voice turning them into desperate reality. He couldn’t look at Steve, couldn’t stand the pity he might see there again. But he had to make him understand or he might fall to pieces.

“I _need_ to do something. To focus on something. Anything else but-“

He carefully blew out a breath, leaning against the table, his hands pressed against its surface, when a soft voice answered: “Alright. Go ahead.”

Jefferson nodded. „The table, I- I should probably wash my hands again.“

He should have bought disposable gloves.

Steve waited calmly when he came back, watching him. Not with pity as he’d feared. But with understanding.

He pushed all distracting thoughts aside and just concentrated on his task. He had to first clean the blood away from his skin to get an actual look at the wound – indeed a through and through. The small circular wound seemed way too insignificant to match the enormity of its meaning.

_You did that, Jefferson! If you hadn’t needed saving from getting strangled you would have gone to another motel, much further away, instead of the nearest Steve could find. Rumlow wouldn’t have been able to find you so easily and Steve wouldn’t have been shot!_

The exit wound on the other side was wider and rougher.

With a distressed sound he saturated a gauze pad with antiseptic, grinding his teeth as he leaned back to properly clean the wound.

“What were you thinking? Attacking a guy with a gun like that?” he mumbled under his breath, not really wanting an answer, just needing a vent for his anger.

“Actually, I was…”

The rest of Steve’s sentence was lost to his hisses as the antiseptic made contact with his wound.

Jefferson merely fixed him with a stare, daring him to finish whatever stupid reason he thought would justify getting shot.

 _How am I supposed to save you from_ my _stupid behavior if you’re acting even stupider than me?_

So when Steve opened his mouth again, he was met with a raised eyebrow.

Jefferson really had no interest in hearing his flimsy reasons. He was surprised when something totally different was directed his way.

“Where did you get the gun?”

Startled for a moment Jefferson paused, shrugged, then got back to cleaning out the exit wound. “I never bought it, if that’s what you mean. I found it after waking up after the curse. On my kitchen table. Maybe Regina thought that I might kill myself with it. Who knows?”

He drew back, throwing the bloody gauze into the empty plastic bag from the drugstore, when he suddenly found his wrist caught. Steve was eyeing him, clearly confused.

“Regina? That woman you were talking to before we left?”

He nodded.

“ _She_ cursed you and separated you from Grace? _She’s_ the Evil Queen?”

„Yes.“

Preoccupied as he was he hadn’t expected to see so much anger burning behind those steely eyes at his statement. Quickly he tried to make it right again, to explain. Although a part of him felt strangely touched.

“She has changed, Steve. And anyway,” he tugged his wrist free and ripped off some adhesive tape, “that’s not important right now.”

Jefferson grabbed the dressing and placed it over the exit wound.

“Maybe it is to me.”

With a sigh he took one prepared strip of tape and fixed the bandage to the skin. He was about to argue as he realized what Steve was doing. He kept him talking, kept him occupied, mind and body alike. His eyes closed for a moment of plain simple gratitude. When he finally answered – while attaching the second dressing – there was even a tiny hint of a smile on his lips. At least at first.

“Regina wasn’t always the Evil Queen. She was a really nice young woman once. A bit naïve but with a good heart. Live wasn’t kind to her and neither was I. I helped turning her into a monster. Played my part in the grand scheme. I didn’t even care. She got her revenge on me in the end, more than once. I’m not the same man anymore, but she has changed as well. She really has these last months. For her son, mostly. I guess children do that to you. You want to be the best version of yourself for them.”

He leaned back slowly – the second bandage neatly in place – and swallowed thickly.

He barely felt the pain this time.

_You’re not that man anymore._

Where Grace’s voice had calmed him mere hours ago it was now haunting his soul.

_No honey, I’ve turned into something even worse._

Everything he’d ever done he’d done for Grace. To offer her the life she deserved. To get back to her. And each time he’d failed and paid the price. Each time he’d turned into something worse than before.

“Jefferson!” Steve’s voice was sharp, drawing him out of his thoughts with surprising ease. One look was all Jefferson needed. Steve had that expression on his face. The one that was usually followed by well-meant words and undue sympathy.

“Don’t!”

“Listen, you…”

“DON’T!” he snapped and jumped up, pacing. “Just.. don’t. I don’t want to hear any of it. No ‘it wasn’t your fault’. No ‘he deserved it’. No ‘you did the right thing‘.“ His hands were flying around in wild gestures, as if they were separate entities, trying to communicate what he was feeling all on their own. Maybe they even did a better job than he did. “I’m trying to tell all of that to myself, but it’s _not true_. So don’t you dare patronize me. Or offer comfort. I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it. I-,“ he faltered, not just because his hoarse voice was starting to betray him. „I killed that man. I killed him in cold blood.“

His former energy was gone all of a sudden, leaving him tired. Just standing there, arms limp at his side. His eyes closed against the harsh truth.

“No, you didn’t.”

His eyes shot open and he bit his lips, angry. Defiant.

_How dare you lie to my face like that? After everything I just told you?_

“’In cold blood’ would mean that you put actual thought into it, but you weren’t thinking. You’re emotions were all over the place. You acted purely on impulse.”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?”

Jefferson couldn’t help his raised voice, not when faced with such a calm and logical attitude in the face of an atrocious act like his.

But Steve surprised him by shaking his head with a serious expression.

“No. And I’m not going to lie to you. Or patronize you. You took a life. And that should _never_ be okay. But you can’t change that now. He backed you into a corner. _He_ riled you up with his taunting, but _you_ have to life with it now.”

Jefferson just stared at him, feeling tiny. That was experience talking, no doubt.

_Of course. He’s a soldier. He knows what he’s talking about. Has probably killed hundreds of times. But with a reason! That was war!_

He suddenly remembered that Steve was much older than he looked. He raised a hand against his neck as if to cover his scar. An automatic gesture whenever he felt vulnerable. Wincing – he’d totally forgotten about the bruising – he realized that his neck was completely on display.

Quickly he got up and started rummaging in his backpack for his silk scarf, wrapping it loosely around his neck. There was only so much vulnerability he could cope with at the same time. He sat down heavily on the bed, letting the words sink in.

Steve had been true to his word: honest and direct and he hadn’t tried to sugarcoat his actions. Jefferson was really glad about that.

As Steve talked again, his voice was even softer than before but his words penetrated right through Jefferson, directly into his core.

“Did I tell you that Bucky was the sniper in our team? Best shot I’ve ever seen. One evening he said to me: ‘You know what I really hate about myself? That I’m so damn good at killing! I mean, what does that say about a person, Steve?’”

He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare look up at the soldier. Not when his breath hitched like that.

There was a quiet sigh, even a soft chuckle. “Of course he was drunk at the time. Otherwise he would’ve never opened up like that. Stupid punk.”

Bucky’d been a sniper. Best shot.

He had killed lots of times.

And he’d thought it made him a bad person.

_Oh Bucky!_

“He didn’t like it. But he was the best. So he did it to safe our asses, to have our backs. He did it to rid the world of Hydra.”

 _He did it, because he’d been in the middle of a_ fucking _war._

“Yeah,” Jefferson snorted, still avoiding crossing glances with the blond, “I hope you’re not comparing my loss of control with _fighting a war_.”

_It’s not the same. Not at all!_

There was a small pause, but then: “Nonetheless, you probably saved my ass that way.”

_What?_

Now he looked up, incredulous. “And how’s that?”

Steve leaned a bit to the side to get a better look at him. “Rumlow’s gun was trained on me the whole time. He would’ve killed me sooner or later. I was thinking about the best way to tackle him when you- acted. But I knew I’d have taken another bullet for it most likely.”

That seemed pretty farfetched.

“What happened in that motel doesn’t make you a terrible person, Jefferson.”

He blinked against the burning in his eyes and looked away again.

What Steve was saying, what he was implying, it was just too much.

“If you want to talk…”

Steve’s voice was gentle and inviting, but the mere thought made him feel sick.

“I don’t… I can’t…”

He shook his head. He couldn’t talk about it. Not right now.

Especially not right now.

He couldn’t face it.

Not when he wanted a chance at finding his brother.

He needed a clear mind for that.

_As if you ever had one, Jefferson._

The sudden knock at the door startled them both.

“I’ve got your breakfast ready!”

Jefferson’s whole face went slack with shock. “Shit,” he whispered, looking at the bloody gauze on the table. The old lady had totally slipped his mind.

Steve reacted faster, grabbing the bag with the bloody waste, pushing his equally bloody shirt right into it and then headed for the bathroom with his saddle bag. He merely nodded towards the door, indicating for Jefferson to deal with her. “Your arm. Put a shirt on. Or my jacket.“

„Just a second!“

Hectically he searched for a shirt in his bag, grabbing the next best thing and slipped his arms into it. That would have to do. With a last calming breath he forced his face into an expression he hoped could pass as normal and opened the door.

He was greeted by the warm and sweet smell of homemade pancakes.

“Here you go, sweetheart. If you want more, just find me downstairs. Oh, I thought coffee wouldn’t do you any good, tired as you are, so I made you tea instead. I put some honey in, for your voice.”

Completely overwhelmed by the effort she’d put into preparing everything he took the tray from her with a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.“

He shut the door with his foot and carefully balanced the tray back to the table. There were pancakes and maple syrup, bagels and toast, jam and cheese, tomatoes and two peaches. And of course the tea. He just stared at it. It was surreal. He’d just cleaned a gunshot wound at this table and now there’s breakfast.

“Your turn.”

“Huh?”

Jefferson hadn’t heard Steve coming back, but he was standing next to him now, in fresh clothes, a wound dressing in his hands.

He frowned, looking at his arm as Steve’s intentions dawned on him. “You already did-“

“Not properly. Come on, shirt off and sit down.“

There was no reason to argue. Steve unwrapped his makeshift bandage, that guilty and worried frown on his brow again, making Jefferson hiss.

“It’s just a grazing wound. You’ve been more than lucky. This will hurt, okay?”

“Uh-huh- AAH, FUCK! What- OUCH!”

He hadn’t been prepared for the pain. Not at all. Steve had merely winced a bit so he’d thought it wasn’t that bad. But that antiseptic burned like hell! Involuntarily he jerked his arm away, so that Steve had to hold it in place.

As soon as the wound was properly bandaged again he covered his still stinging upper arm with his hand, holding it close.

A melody broke their silence out of nowhere. It was Steve’s cellphone. He pulled it out, pointing at the table. “You should eat something, I’ll be right there.”

“Not hungry.”

Steve’s face instantly morphed into this stern kind of ‘commander’-mode. “Eat. Something.”

With a sigh Jefferson resigned himself to it. If nothing else it would at least give him something to do and focus his mind on. He decided for a pancake, listening with one ear to the call. It was all acknowledging mumbling, one word answers and a ‘thanks Nat’.

He couldn’t extract any useful information out of this call.

But he _needed_ answers. Now more than ever. He was afraid, though.

Afraid to learn things he’d never wanted to know.

Afraid he couldn’t take it. So far everything had been a disaster and whatever was to come could prove a real test for his sanity.

He was so afraid of losing it again. Of falling prey to his own demons.

_Keep it together, Jefferson. You’re stronger than that._

_You have to be._

_For Bucky!_

“Who was that?” He was proud that his voice barely shook at all.

Steve sat down as well, taking a bagel and stuffing it with cheese. “A friend. Her name’s Natasha. I called her before when- she took care of the situation at the motel.”

Jefferson froze for a second.

Dead eyes and blood and a look of respect flashing before his eyes.

He shook his head and grabbed for his cup of tea to distract himself. He had no intention at all to ask for details. Neither what ‘taking care’ meant in circumstances like that nor what kind of person this Nat had to be to be called in a situation like that.

The sweet and spicy flavor of the tea soothed his sore throat but also his nerves. Enough to actually open up the doors to a new determination.

_I need answers!_

“Who was that man? What was he talking about and why was he after you? What exactly _happened_ back there?” He was aware that he sounded more lost than intended, desperate for answers, for a possibility to understand. His voice broke when he asked the most important question of them all. “What did they do to my brother, Steve?”

The other man had already wolfed down half his bagel and some tomatoes, laying it back down at his questions to fix him with his blue eyes.

“I promised you answers anyway, so- I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, if you eat something already. Deal?”

Jefferson rolled his eyes. Pointedly he stuck a piece of pancake in his mouth, chewed and swallowed it, flinching at the pain it caused. It was worse with food than with just drinking something. Nonetheless he managed a defiant gaze.

“Happy now?”

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: if you liked it (or not) and if you want to share your opinion - and make me insanely happy - then type a few words in the comment field :D  
> Thanks and see you in a few days!
> 
> Oh, and of course a small sneak peek:  
> Steve had a brown folder in his hands. It looked like nothing special, the hesitation in his movements and the conflict in his eyes, however, told another story. He bit his lower lip.  
> “I told you that you remind me of the man I went to war with. The man he became, the man they made him into, is someone totally different.”


	7. Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's another blow waiting for Jefferson and maybe, just maybe, even a tiny bit of hope.   
> (Jefferson finally learns what had happened to his brother at Hydra's hands.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here comes the turning point.  
> The question is just: in what direction...
> 
> I know I'm overly cruel towards Jefferson - again. But he's just so adorable when he's in pain... 
> 
> Also, there are some more tiny snippets from the past. This time they are really tiny, but they'll get bigger in some of the following chapters. Promise!
> 
> Now, have fun!

 

“What’s that?”

Steve had a brown folder in his hands. It looked like nothing special, the hesitation in his movements and the conflict in his eyes, however, told another story. He bit his lower lip.

“I told you that you remind me of the man I went to war with. The man he became, the man they made him into, is someone totally different.”

Jefferson put two and two together, it wasn’t that hard. “This is- it’s his- that’s a file about Bucky?” It wasn’t really a question. He knew. And he reached out with his hand.

Steve nodded. „Yes, but Jefferson- this isn’t pretty. Are you sure you want to know?”

He wanted to nod.

He wanted to shake his head.

He was anything but sure about this. Nevertheless, he looked right at the clearly uncertain soldier. “He’s my brother!”

Steve obviously understood and gave him the folder.

During the last hour he had humored Steve and eaten two pancakes and a peach. Meanwhile the blond had told him about Hydra. Had started with World War II, with his rescue of Bucky and their work for the SSR with the Howling Commandos. Jefferson learned about Schmitt and Bucky’s fall and Steve’s sacrifice. The founding of S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve’s ‘revitalization’ and the massive infiltration by Hydra. He listened tentatively to him retelling his encounters with the ‘Winter Soldier’ a few weeks back, to the story about falling helicarriers Steve had mentioned back in his living room and – of course – the betrayal of one Brock Rumlow who’d Steve had thought of as a reliable colleague, maybe even a friend.

It sounded so unreal, all of it, like something out of a movie.

_So that’s how Steve and Emma felt when they were told fairytales were for real._

So far he’d managed to keep his cool through all of it – well, mostly. Hearing about his brother falling to his death hadn’t been easy – even though he knew that he hadn’t actually died. As it happens it had been worse than all the things about the ‘Winter Soldier’.

It was hard for him to put those personas together. He remembered his brother as a cheeky, outgoing boy who’d loved to laugh. And what he’d heard about Bucky so far had fit that description. But the Winter Soldier was something different. Cold, hard, a murderer without conscience. That were neither qualities of the boy he knew ( _he was just five back then_ ), nor of the man Steve told him about ( _he said Bucky was a sniper even back then_ ), nor of himself ( _you just killed someone_ ) – and he was his twin after all.

_No!_

He refused to listen to his doubts.

Learning about Rumlow had only led to him being sure that he hated the guy. But that changed nothing about the fact that Rumlow was dead and the blood was on _his_ hands.

Jefferson pushed his chair back and stood up, heading towards the bed. He placed the folder on the sheets, stared at it for a minute.

He wanted to know. Wanted to see.

And yet he didn’t.

If he crossed that line he could never go back. Could never _un-see_ it.

He released a shaky breath, rubbing his hands over his face. The roughness of his stubbly cheeks felt strange. Unfamiliar. Harsh. Like this new person that he’d become.

_When you find him, you’ll have to know what happened to him if you want to be able to help him. You need to know, Jefferson!_

His hands trailed up through his hair, making it stick up any which way. He didn’t care.

“You can do this,” he mumbled as he took off his boots and sat down on the bed, cross-legged. The file right in front of him.

His right thumb rubbed along the blue stone against his wrist, subconsciously seeking comfort and strength in his last remaining connection with his brother.

_Remember, my boys: you’re one soul, divided in two parts, because it was too bright, too special for one being alone. Cause that’s what twins are. And that’s why they’re always stronger together. Now, as long as you’ll keep these stones with you you’ll never be truly alone. You’ll always carry a part of each other with you._

He still remembered his excitement at getting something so beautiful. And his confusion. The young boy that he’d been just hadn’t been able to understand why his mother thought he would ever not be with his brother.

This wasn’t helping.

The folder was still in front of him, foreign letters on the front. Jefferson recognized them as Cyrillic but he had no idea what they were saying.

The first thing he saw upon opening it was the picture, pinned to the inside of the cover. It was a big one, all in black and blue, showing him his brother. At least it was the face he knew from the mirror, only with longer hair. Sleeping. It looked almost peaceful, if it weren’t for the metal container he was in and the signs of frost on the glass window that showed his face. This must be where they kept him frozen up.

_Oh God, Bucky._

He stretched out his hand, involuntarily, and run his fingers along his brother’s hair.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

He needed to see more.

All the documents in the file were written in Russian. Nonetheless he scanned them all, looking out for the many scribbled notes in different handwriting and languages. It seemed that not all the scientist who’d gotten their hands on his brother over the years had been Russian.

There was a small black and white picture, old and grainy, but it was unmistakable what it showed: someone lying on a table, chest bare, and four people in white robes and gloves behind the table, standing next to each other, presenting their ‘prize’.

The strange equipment surrounding them reminded him way too much of the stuff he’d seen the few times he’d been inside Victor’s castle. The mere thought made him ill.

There were sketches of a human body with varying areas highlighted by arrows, but he couldn’t understand their meaning.

There was no way to misinterpret what he found next: a picture of the left side of a male torso. Only the arm ended just above the elbow in ripped flesh.

He covered his mouth with his left hand, pressing it hard against his lips to keep them from trembling. To keep the pain from breaking loose. His other hand was clinging to the stone pendant. He was desperate to touch his brother, to hold him close. The stone was the closest he could get.

They hadn’t cut his arm off. That arm looked mangled not like a surgical experiment.

_He must have lost the arm when he fell from that train._

_How long did you have to lie in the cold, bleeding and hurt, until someone found you, brother?_

Few pages later he found another picture. Again of the left side of a torso, only this time there was an arm. A metal one. Strong and cold looking, enclosing even his shoulder in gleaming steel – or whatever material that was.

_“Oh stop moping. Come on!” Bucky ruffled his hair with his hand before he grinned his contagious, tell-tale cheeky grin._

Looking at that arm there, he shuddered. Imagining that hand in his hair was creepy as hell.

A note in narrow, uneven writing after a paragraph with lots of numbers drew his attention. It was in English.

“recommended settings insufficient – increase to” he couldn’t make any sense out of the numbers here, “necessary for successful wipe”.

His lips pressed together so hard it hurt. The pain wasn’t unwelcome.

He turned the pages, studying the writing. Sometimes he thought he could understand a word or two of the handwritten scribbling, but it was never enough to actually tell him anything useful. And the only other notes in English that he found were splotched or so badly written that he couldn’t make out more than a few words: “subject erratic”, “repair” and “enhancement”.

The last word was written next to a picture of the metal arm again. It was a more recent one, the way the plates were arranged seemed more efficient. It looked sleeker and even more deadly.

Slowly he closed the file, his hands shaking.

His throat closing up.

Hydra had made his brother suffer.

But Hydra was also the reason he was alive.

He had no idea what to think.

_They experimented on him. Changed him. Dammit, they’re talking about him as if he were a machine, something to “repair”._

Jefferson grabbed for his jacket and pulled the small photograph out of its chest pocket, watching it. That same face, so young, with that easy and almost expectant look.

He threw the picture onto the file and pushed himself up, jumping off the bed. His hands were balled to fists as he stepped towards the window, gazing out but seeing nothing apart from that sleeping, frozen face. The muscles in his neck strained and his jaw clenched.

_This has to end!_

He turned, the motion stiff yet powerful.

Jefferson had been angry before in his life. Many times. Mostly with himself, sometimes with others. And it had almost always been combined with him feeling helpless.

Never before had he felt this mighty mixture of anger and determination.

It cleared the mind. Set priorities straight.

It was the best focus he would ever get.

“We _need_ to find Bucky!”

Steve had observed him closely, the alert wariness still hadn’t completely left his expression. There was something in his gaze, as if he was searching for something.

_If you’re waiting for a nervous breakdown, you won’t get it. Not this time._

Finally Steve nodded and pushed himself up with his hands on his knees, keeping the strain from his side.

“Yes, we…” He stopped all of a sudden, mouth open in mid-sentence and he got this inward stare. “Now.”

“What?” Jefferson couldn’t follow whatever train of thought Steve was currently on.

“He said ‘now’!”

And the way the soldier said it, it sounded important. But who was he talking about? And what was ‘now’?

Steve rubbed his face, blowing his cheeks.

This really looked serious.

“I don’t understand.”

That got the other man’s attention. He swallowed, his hand stroking through his hair in an anxious manner. “Rumlow. Before he died he said ‘you’ll never find him _now_ ’.”

This time he didn’t flinch. And the name triggered no memories of surprised eyes and blood.

He couldn’t remember him saying that, but he’d been in shock at the time.

But the implied meaning… no…

_It can’t be…_

“He knew where Bucky is,” Steve said, voicing Jefferson’s fears.

‘You’ll never find him now’. Over and over the words reverberated through his head. It was like ice, the horror that crept through his veins, threatening to paralyze him with guilt.

The meaning of the words pretty clear all of a sudden: you’ll never find him now _that I’m about to die_.

He knew where Bucky was.

Rumlow had been their only hint, their only connection. And he had killed him.

_You fucked it all up. AGAIN!!!!!!_

“Oh God, please. No.”

“Jefferson. Jefferson.”

The second one made him look up. “What?” His voice sounded weak, and even rougher than before.

Steve on the other hand obviously hadn’t drawn the conclusion yet. There was no disdain in his eyes, only apprehension.

“I think it was more than that. ‘Putting a stray dog in its place’. That’s what Rumlow said at the beginning.”

That got Jefferson’s attention. He remembered that words, thinking nothing of them at the time. “You think he was talking about Bucky? That he did something to him? Punished him?”

Steve nodded. “Or worse. Taking him back to Hydra.”

“No,” Jefferson shook his head, unwilling to even think about that possibility. Unwilling to accept it. “No,” he repeated with vehemence. Hydra meant back to torture. Back to that damn file. And Hydra meant he’d be even harder to find. “He’s not back with Hydra. He can’t be. We have to find him, Steve.“

The soldier looked at the ceiling in a somewhat helpless gesture, one hand lying at the back of his neck. “I know. Let’s get started then.”

With a vigorous nod Jefferson started pacing, tapping the knuckle of his thumb against his chin. “Ok, we need to retrace Rumlow’s steps. So, what do we know? A call informed him of your whereabouts at Portage Lake, which means it was most likely one of those Hydra agents in the woods who called him.”

“Or some middle man. Someone who supervised their mission from somewhere safe. Someone who got a quick radio massage about my presence there who then reported it to Rumlow.” Steve had his arms crossed, his still posture and his composure the exact opposite of Jefferson’s nervous need for movement.

“Be that as it may, that means he got the information around the time we were there at the base. And he was at our motel this morning. With his car. Which leaves a maximum of what – ten hours? – for the trip. That’s one hell of a search radius and nothelpful at all!”

He sank down on the edge of the bed, hands rubbing over his face in resignation.

“Well,” Steve shrugged, “at least we can be fairly certain that he hadn’t been in Atlanta.”

Jefferson raised his head, disbelief all over his face. That’s hardly the right moment for a joke. He decided to ignore it.

“We need a clue. Something, anything, that points us in a direction. Was there anything he said?” He’d wrecked his memory already but he couldn’t think of anything.

“Nothing helpful. Maybe there’s something in his car?”

“Or on his phone. Which we both don’t have.”

“Maybe not,” Steve lowered his arms and pulled a cellphone out of his pocket. “Natasha might be able to help here. I don’t know, find out what the police found out or get us in there to check the car ourselves.” He raised the phone as indication before he started dialing.

“Wait, that car you stopped at, back at the motel. That was his, right?” The soldier nodded. “Well, it’s not saying much but maybe the license plate could be an indicator?”

“Unlikely. EM-3981, just a usual plate for Washington D.C. It’s where he was stationed before he nearly burned and most likely the place from which he started hisown search.”

“Never mind.”

Steve raised his cell to his ear and stepped over to the table, soon talking to this Natasha.

They needed information. Everything they could get. Jefferson really hoped this Nat could help them out. Again.

_If only you hadn’t killed him!_

He shook his head. Now was not the right time. He needed his wits to find Bucky. More now than ever, if Steve was right and that bastard had him somewhere. Tortured or wiped again. _Please, hasn’t he suffered enough?_

If only their radius was smaller. If they could pinpoint- _anything_. If…

His eyes shot wide open. It was a long shot. Very long to be precise. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try anything at his disposal.

_Time to make a call of your own._

 

 

“Are you sure?“

He couldn’t believe that luck was finally on his side.

_“Yeah, the number’s the same. I’ll text you name and address.”_

“Thank you, Emma. I owe you.“

_“Just let me drug you once and we’re even. Promise.”_

It wasn’t hard to imagine her raised eyebrow and pursed lips, given her sassy tone.

“Haha, very funny.”

Even though he wasn’t in the mood for laughter, he couldn’t help a small smile.

_“Be safe, Jefferson.”_

He left the bathroom – he hadn’t wanted to disturb Steve’s call – to find the other man standing at the window, deeply in thought.

“Any luck?”

Steve shook his head, downcast. „The car is currently on its way to forensics. We either have to wait or steal it back. Same goes for his phone. She’s trying, though, to get us information about the car itself.”

A grin spread across Jefferson’s lips, if only for a second. “Already done. A hit and run was reported yesterday evening near St. Johnsbury, Vermont. Culprit was a black SUV. License plate is a match, well at least the part that the guy remembered.”

The blond seemed torn between frowning and surprise. “How do you know?”

He held up his cell. “Grace got me Emma’s number. She’s the sheriff, remember? So I asked her to run a search on the number. I wasn’t expecting anything to be honest. But now we have a point to start.”

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly 'now' has a totally new meaning...
> 
> I'd love to know what you think :)
> 
> And before I say goodbye for the next few days, a tiny teaser, of course:
> 
> The day before he’d been full of determination and nervous energy, still stunned that a lead to his long lost brother had literally popped out of nowhere. This time he was also determined, but in an anxious way. He felt insecure. Inadequate. And so full of guilt. And anger.  
> If ‘exhilaration’ was the word to describe their bike trip to Portage Lake, then ‘inner turmoil’ was the headline for this one.


	8. A Different Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Jefferson finally have a lead on Bucky. Even if it's just a small one. Even if they're not a hundred percent sure that it will lead them to Bucky at all.  
> But it's a lead.  
> It's a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: time for a little Steve/Jefferson friendship bonding time :)

 

Their trip this time was vastly different from their drive up north the other day.

They hadn’t left people behind who came to say goodbye and wish them luck. Instead they’d left a very – _very_ – confused old woman who couldn’t understand how three hours were considered ‘rest’. But they had made sure to pay her for her kindness as if they’d actually stayed the night.

The day before he’d been full of determination and nervous energy, still stunned that a lead to his long lost brother had literally popped out of nowhere. This time he was also determined, but in an anxious way. He felt insecure. Inadequate. And so full of guilt. And anger.

If ‘exhilaration’ was the word to describe their bike trip to Portage Lake, then ‘inner turmoil’ was the headline for this one.

It was already early afternoon when Steve finally slowed down at the outskirts of a town at a gas stop to fill up the fuel tank. Jefferson was amazed that he’d been able to drive that long at all with his injury. But apart from a flinch as he carefully stretched after dismounting and an overall tense posture nothing told of any discomfort.

Jefferson stepped aside to stretch his legs, wandering the perimeter. His legs were stiff and his back and butt hurt from the hours on the bike.

As they’d stopped yesterday – god, was it really only yesterday? – they’d walked around together, eating a sandwich and they’d talked. Well, Steve had asked questions about Storybrooke and how the curse worked and how it had been broken. So Jefferson had told him what he knew.

About how Emma was supposed to be the savior and how Henry had fetched her, his birth mother. About how Emma’s arrival had changed everything. He’d told him about the mayor’s try to curse Emma to get rid of her and keep Henry to herself and how that had resulted in Henry’s death. And how a ‘true love’s kiss’ saved him and broke the curse, which lead to the Dark One bringing magic back. And of course his own reunion with Grace.

That conversation seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Hey, what do you prefer? Turkey or Tuna?”

Startled he turned to find Steve right next to him, two sandwiches in his hands.

“Not hungry.”

“That again?” The other man sighed, concern creeping into his voice. “I won’t force you to eat, Jefferson, but you need to take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, just another thing I’m bad at.”

His mumbling hadn’t been meant to be heard. Obviously he’d underestimated the ears of a super-soldier.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Jefferson snapped, louder than intended, but all that tension inside of him, that emotional turmoil made him testy. Images of Bucky’s file haunted his mind. If he’d only grabbed him before he’d been sucked into the portal none of that would’ve happened. “Just admit it. I fuck up everything! And on top of that I’m slowing you down!”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. He seemed honestly surprised by his words.

“You’re the one who found us a lead. In record time.”

_You just don’t see it, do you? Are you purposefully turning a blind eye?_

“The only reason we needed to find that lead was because I made sure that we couldn’t get it from the source!” He spat the words out as if they were acid.

“Rumlow would’ve never told us _anything_!”

With a quick motion Steve placed the packaged sandwiches – and a bottle of soda – on the floor. The next moment Jefferson found himself held in place by the powerful grip of two hands on his shoulders. The blond’s face only inches away.

“Hey, you didn’t know. We both didn’t. But it is the way it is and now we deal with it. Beating yourself up over this won’t help anyone. And I need your help here. You’re quick-thinking and you out-witted a highly trained Hydra agent. So believe me when I tell you: you’re _not_ slowing me down.”

Jefferson blinked. Confused. Overwhelmed. That was what Steve was thinking?

It made sense, too. In a way. Maybe.

He just couldn’t see it right now. Didn’t want to see it. Not when he was busy with self-recrimination.

It was just too much. All of it. He wasn’t meant for this. Getting almost killed, being held at gunpoint, _killing_ a man, the guilt. _That damn guilt_. Adding up with each new bad decision _._

He sagged a bit in Steve’s grip, feeling shaky.

“You need to calm down, Jefferson.”

He almost laughed. Or maybe he did. A broken one. “How?”

Steve let go of him, slowly and cautious, then pushed the bottle into his hands. “Drink.”

He did. It hurt a bit – less than in the morning – but it felt good.

“Now walk with me and tell me something.” Steve nudged him along as he started to stroll along the sidewalk, his gait a bit stiff.

Jefferson frowned. He wanted him to tell a story or what? How should that help him calm down?

“Tell you something,” he repeated, doubting.

“Yeah,” Steve said between two bites of tuna sandwich. “You barely told anything about yourself so far, your adult self, I mean. What did you do for a living back in fairyta- back in the Enchanted Forest?”

“Seriously?”

They were on a search for his brother, time could be of the essence and he wanted small talk.

“Humor me.”

Jefferson threw up his hands in a surrendering gesture, shaking his head at this impossible man.

“Fine. I was selling mushrooms. You’re happy now?”

Steve stopped right before taking a bite, his eyebrows almost at his hairline. It looked almost comical, if Jefferson would’ve been in a mood to laugh. “Mushrooms?”

“Yes. Mushrooms. It wasn’t lucrative, barely covered the expenses, and sometimes it didn’t, but it was _safe_.”

“So, nimble fingers and acting skills to search for a weapon right under the eyes of the enemy are common skills for salesman in the Enchanted Forest?”

The seriousness of his voice didn’t fit the glint of amusement and curiosity in Steve’s eyes. And Jefferson couldn’t help it, facing such a ridiculous statement.

He chuckled. Just for a second.

“Not really. I was a portal jumper, a long time ago. Just like my father. Well, maybe not exactly like him, but- anyway. I travelled to all kinds of different worlds with my father’s hat, mediating business deals amongst the realms. I used it as an opportunity to look for Bucky. But as I started to lose hope I took on other jobs. Reckless stuff. Stealing objects. Information. The higher the risk the better. And the absurd amount of money involved also wasn’t to be scoffed at.”

“You tried to fill a void with adrenaline and riches to stop it from hurting you.”

Jefferson looked at Steve at that statement. At the insight it conveyed.

_He knows what it feels like. Has probably done the same at some point._

But then Steve’s gaze turned quizzical, one corner of his mouth twitched, almost disappointed. “A thief then.”

Jefferson couldn’t believe it. After everything that man had witnessed he was disappointed at learning him to be a former _thief_?

“It fit me back then. I was an obnoxious, selfish ass who cared for nothing and no one apart from his payment.” It came out harsher than intended. Sometimes he envied his former self for his ability to wall off his heart from anymore harm only to be angry with himself for even thinking it. He’d had the whole of all the worlds at his feet back then but he hadn’t been happy.

Not that he was happy _now_.

Steve opened the second sandwich after offering it again with a questioning look and tasted it after Jefferson declined again. “It’s hard to believe,” he said after swallowing. “I’ve seen you with Grace and when you bandaged my side. I’ve seen you talk about your brother, I’ve seen you when you flicked through his file. All you ever seem to do _is_ care.”

It felt strangely good to hear those words. He couldn’t tell why exactly, only that they touched something in him.

“I was a different man back then,” he sighed.

It was true. He’d been arrogant and restless. Ever since the loss of his brother he’d felt adrift, and it had only gotten worse at watching it destroy his family and later when he lost all hope of ever finding him again.

The silence weighed heavy on him without being uncomfortable. They merely walked for a while. Until Steve broke the quiet with a casual comment and a shrug.

“I thought you were a hatter.”

Jefferson blinked, ripped from his gloomy thoughts by this ridiculous statement.

“I _hate_ hats!” he replied, growling.

The other man stopped, his head tilted to one side. The lack of comprehension so obvious and almost funny to watch.

“Then, why were you called ‘Mad Hatter’? I don’t understand.”

“Never read ‘Alice in Wonderland’, have you?”

“No. Never heard of it either.”

Jefferson’s eyes widened. An actual smile was fighting its way onto his lips. “You must be the only person on the planet, you know? Forget about it, the story’s rubbish anyway. All wrong. Although I think I prefer that version. Anyway- it’s quite simple,” the amusement left his voice again, “I was imprisoned there. In Wonderland. With the task of making a hat like mine that could jump realms. Which is an impossible task without magic. Which I don’t possess. But it was the only chance I had for the Queen to maybe let me go. To get back to my Grace. So I tried the impossible. For weeks, months. I lost track of time. And my sanity as well. And then, someday, I woke up in this world.”

The atmosphere had turned serious again.

Steve had led them back to the gas station where he threw away the packaging of the sandwiches before he turned to Jefferson again with a thoughtful expression.

“You were desperate. And desperate people often do the craziest things.”

For a moment they just looked at each other, a new understanding and respect passing. This was serious stuff, topics Jefferson usually considered too personal or too difficult to discuss with anyone – and who was there really to discuss it with?

He’d never burden Grace with his history.

And the only people in Storybrooke he’d ever talked to about this were Regina – who was mostly responsible for it – and Emma – he was sure shouted words during a fight didn’t count as ‘talking’.

This was different. And strangely liberating.

As they reached the motorcycle again he was surprised to find himself calmer than before. Somehow grounded. He bit his bottom lip as he watched Steve, wondering how he’d done it. How he’d known what to do in the first place.

The soldier held out his helmet for him, a confident expression in his eyes. “We’ll find him, Jefferson. Don’t worry about that.”

“How can you be so sure?” That really astounded him.

And Steve smiled.

“Because I found him once before. In the middle of a war zone. And because you were willing to sacrifice your own sanity to try and get back to someone you love. So tell me, what can possibly stop us, now that we’re working together?”

 

 

“At least we can be pretty sure now that it _was_ Rumlow,” Steve said as they left the house of one Norman Drake, who’d reported the hit-and-run.

Jefferson put his helmet back on and latched the strap beneath his chin. “I’d say, let’s have a look at the scene, see what we got and then work on from there.”

Steve grinned and gave Jefferson a short pat on the shoulder. “Sounds like a plan.”

The former portal jumper hopped onto the bike behind the soldier, even though his body still remembered the strain from the previous day. Hundreds of miles on a motorcycle weren’t something he was overly keen on repeating very soon, but for the moment it was their only transportation – and hopefully the long distance rides were over.

He’d barely slept the night before, only dozing, on and off, for awhile before the memory of Rumlow woke him abruptly again. The look on his face as he was hit by the bullets, the taunting words he’d said. It came back to him over and over again. Until he’d quit trying altogether. At least he hadn’t woken Steve with his frequent jerks upon startling awake.

But even barely rested and haunted by the remnants of his dreams – and therefore actions – he felt better than before. He couldn’t put a finger on what it was about Steve but something he’d said or done had actually helped him to get a better grip on himself.

Maybe it was his straight-forward attitude, maybe the honesty in everything he did and said. Maybe it was that Steve treated him differently than any other person in the last years. He really couldn’t name it, but he liked it.

And Steve thought him capable. _I need your help. You out-witted a highly trained Hydra soldier._ The blond was the most capable man he’d ever met. Strong in character and in a fight. If that man thought he wasn’t a liability then maybe there was some truth to it.

The only thing about Steve that he really had trouble processing was his body’s capacity for regeneration. Seriously, it wasn’t fair how fast that guy healed. Sure, the wound was still there and still tender but all scabbed over. Jefferson was certain that in a week nothing would remind you of the wound at all. Mostly he was just envious, to be honest – his arm still hurt when he made the wrong movements and the bruise at his throat had turned an ugly green.

Nevertheless, this night of a whole new dimension of nightmares had shown him once and for all that he’d become a man he’d never wanted to be. No matter if it made him a terrible person or not, he _was_ capable of terrible things. Things he never thought possible.

It had also shown him that he’d do anything to get his brother back.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing or just a dangerous thing. But it was something he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – change. He’d have to life with it.

This time – he’d sworn – he wouldn’t let his self-doubt or insecurities or guilt get in the way of his focus and determination.

This time, he’d give everything he got.

They stopped.

He got off and looked around. “So this is it?”

Steve shrugged then pointed at some remnants of shards at the side of the road. “Yeah, this is the place.”

They were at a small road few miles off into the woods northwest of St. Johnsbury. On one side a cart road led deeper into the woods.

Steve went to the shards, inspecting the street. Jefferson on the other hand turned slowly around, looking into the distance, checking the surroundings. This wasn’t a street that was highly frequented. He started walking a few yards along the cart road, looking around and trying to spot in which direction it led. But that was a futile mission, considering the thick forest around them and the bend 50 yards in front of him.

_“I tell you, that car came out of nowhere. I was just getting home. Last storm uprooted some trees at the clearing near the Barker’s, so I helped out of course. It happened on my way back. I just drove down back to town when suddenly that frickin’ car shot out of the woods. Crashed right into my side. Gave me that nasty cut here and a bruised elbow. I got really lucky there.”_

_“Could you see the driver?”_

_“Car’s one of those big SUVs, black and bulky and fuckin’ expensive. Window’s were all tainted, ‘cept for the windshield. But I got a good look before the bastard just set back and drove off. Short black hair, looked pretty scary. Scared and all. Barely got the number of his plate as quickly as he made off.”_

_“And he came out of the forest?”_

_“Yeah. There’re lots of hunting cabins and stuff out there. Hey, if you find the guy, tell him, he owes me a new truck. Old one’s a wreck now.”_

“Steve?” Jefferson had his back towards the other man, staring into the greenery all around him, thinking about Steve’s phone call from last night. “Anything from Nat yet?”

“Not yet, but she said she’d need a little time for this. Why?”

“This doesn’t look like the kind of way you use as a shortcut, let alone a regular road.”

He felt a presence directly behind him and sure enough Steve was right at his side now. “You think wherever Rumlow came from, it is somewhere down that path?”

They glanced at each other, barely veiled hope and excitement mirrored in the other. Jefferson nodded.

“We need to find out where that leads. And a list of houses and hunting cabins out there,” Steve concluded.

Jefferson agreed. “And we definitely need a map!”

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All your comments last chapter made me absolutely giddy.  
> Thank you!  
> I hope you'll enjoyed this one, too.
> 
> And here the teaser for next time (probably Sunday or Monday evening - see you):  
> Jefferson huffed, without looking up from his ponderings. “Sorry to disappoint, but I can’t fly. So, unless you know someone with wings… FUCK! This thing’s useless! FUCKING USELESS!”


	9. Combing Through The Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To find someone in a specific area in the 'almost' wilderness you need a map, a good pair of legs (or wheels) and lots of determination.  
> Jefferson and Steve have all of that.  
> Of course it's never that easy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve will finally learn what it means to travel with someone from the Enchanted Forest...

 

Getting a map wasn’t difficult. Getting a list of hunting cabins wasn’t either, but the young man at the municipal administration had seemed confused why they wouldn’t just look up the information on the internet.

It wasn’t even 10am when they sat in a diner for a second cup of tea – or coffee in Steve’s case – and Jefferson marked the locations of the cabins from their list into the map. Meanwhile Steve was talking to Nat, listening tentatively and taking notes on the edge of the map.

Jefferson tried not to let it distract him, he’d learn everything soon enough. So he concentrated on also highlighting the path they were interested in as well as all its branches. By the time Steve ended the call a big part of the forest northwest of St. Johnsbury was now crossed by thick black lines.

“That’s one hell of an area to comb through. What if we’re wrong?” Jefferson looked up at the blond who, in turn, stared at the map, a thoughtful frown on his brow.

“It’s just as you said. Rumlow wouldn’t have taken that cart road if he’d had a choice. He was eager to get to me. He wouldn’t just take a route to wilderness if there’s a perfect road nearby.”

“And Nat?”

Steve blew out his cheeks and leaned over the table to unfold the map completely. After a quick moment to orient himself he took a quick look around. When he finally talked he did it quietly to not be overheard.

“There’s no known base in this area here,” he pointed at the marked section, “but there’s a warehouse in Montpelier that was used by S.H.I.E.L.D.” He tapped his finger somewhere outside the map. “It’s too far west, though. It doesn’t fit the clues that we have. He must have come from here.” His finger switched back towards the marked part of the map.

Jefferson agreed. If he’d been in Montpelier he’d never left the highway for a trip through the woods. No, he’d started here. But _why_ had Rumlow been here in the first place?

“You said there are no _known_ bases, so…” The soldier nodded, catching up on his train of thought. “How are we supposed to find a secret base?”

“I haven’t seen many of the smaller bases. However, most of them were hidden in plain sight. A normal shop to keep up appearances and a secret backroom or basement underneath.”

Jefferson caught on quickly. “So, we take a close look at all hunting cabins and other buildings we find in case they act as a cover. If Rumlow really was with Bucky before he came after us he must have left him in some kind of building even if there’s no secret base around here. So the buildings are our priority.”

Steve nodded. “And talking to people. If there’s an underground base our only chance is to narrow down the area he’d been to find it. No matter if he kept Bucky locked up somewhere for later, or took him to a base or let another agent bring him back to Hydra while he followed us, there have to be clues out there to find. And whatever he was doing before he drove to Maine, it happened somewhere… here.”

At the last word he put his index finger on the area with all the markings, again.

“It’s best we start at the point of the car accident and work our way back up here.” Steve trailed his finger along the way he was talking about.

At once Jefferson’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head minutely. “No, if we take that way first we’ll have to backtrack later to reach the other fork back there.” His gaze flitted over the map, imprinting the chaotic tangle of paths in that mass of green into his mind. “It’s better we pass that side road at first,” he indicated everything he said with the tip of his capped marker, “and check out this one with the cabin at the end. It’s a dead end, so we have to get back anyway and go back to the previous junction. There are three different locations along that path and it loops back to the main route here, where we can just go and check that one without having to go back.”

He felt at ease. Maps and orientation; that were things he _knew_. He always had a sure feeling for geography and layouts, maybe that’s why he was so good at what he’d been doing all those years, thieving around the realms.

Steve thought it through and nodded in the end, a knowing smile on his face.

_What’s that’s supposed to mean?_

“Alright, I’ll arrange for provisions for the day and you get back to the motel and fetch your backpack.”

They were back at the lonely road in the middle of nowhere again in no time. Sandwiches from the diner, granola bars, bottles of water and two apples from a nearby supermarket now filling Jefferson’s bag, the map pinned against his chest inside his vest.

The uneven ground of the card road soon proved to be a menace. Every bump teasing his already sore backside and back. At least Steve had to drive slowly on this curvy and uneven road.

Jefferson pointed out the directions, their route mapped out in his mind. He concentrated on the search, ‘cause if he’d stop too long to think about the possibility of finding his brother out here, maybe soon, of him being somewhere close by, his nerves wouldn’t let him function properly.

He kept his eyes open, looking for everything that could indicate that Rumlow had been here.

On their way to the first cabin they passed a simple hut near the road – and checked it out of course. It was locked but Jefferson was quick to open the lock with some wire that he’d kept in his bag for such an occasion. Steve merely raised an eyebrow at that. The hut held tools and equipment one might need for forestry, nothing else.

At the end of the path they found a hunting cabin and a truck and subsequently a gruff looking middle aged man working on the roof. Steve talked to him after he came down, asked questions about how long he’d been here and if he’d witnessed anything suspicious in the area or any black SUVs. All the while the man stared at Jefferson with suspicion and barely concealed disdain.

Although Steve got answers out of this man – he hadn’t seen anything strange and he’d been working on the cabin the last three days straight – they needed to get inside to check properly.

“Any chance I could use your bathroom?” Jefferson put on his ‘slightly embarrassed yet still charming’ smile.

The man merely raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated. “There’s lots of trees behind you for that.”

_Wow, friendly, are we? You really don’t like me for some reason, huh?_

“I’d like to wash my hands afterwards if you don’t mind.”

Mr. Grumpy rolled his eyes and growled: “For all I care… last door on the left. Meanwhile,” he turned towards Steve and his tone as well as his face became more open, almost friendly: “Wanna give me a hand getting that stuff there on the roof? It’s a bit heavy and you look quite capable.”

When they walked back to the bike afterwards – Steve grimacing slightly and with a hand against his side and Jefferson with no evidence of the cabin being more than a simple cabin – the guy shouted after them: “This ain’t no place for rich kids.”

_So that’s his problem!_

His loud laugh took Steve by surprise.

Forests were his home, no matter if he was wearing a tailored shirt and vest with a cravat or not, and certainly no matter on which end of wealth he’d currently resided.

 

 

And the day went on, just not exactly as planned. Following the route they’d worked out in the diner they found smaller side roads that weren’t in the map, so they had to check them first. The same with buildings. There were the hunting cabins they knew of, but they found smaller huts and even a reclusive cottage, the home of a young woman who preferred solitude and quiet over living in town. So they had to check everything even more carefully – playing hikers or lost tourists to get a drink or a trip to the bathroom to check the occupied houses or broke into the other ones. With all these extra stuff popping up they couldn’t skip even one side road because they couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t a place Rumlow could’ve been before.

Jefferson really hoped Hydra wasn’t hiding a secret underground base here. It was hard enough finding any evidence at all that Rumlow had been in this area without having to comb the forest for secret trapdoors or something. They’d never find the entrance – well, they’d know they’d come close as soon as they were suddenly shot out of nowhere.

Few times they encountered uprooted trees, just like Mr. Drake had mentioned. Mostly Steve had been able to drive around the blockage through the adjacent forest, but in one occasion the undergrowth had been so thick they had to leave the bike behind, climb over the tree and search the rest of the side road by foot.

All in all this took far longer than either of them had expected. And it was getting tedious. Each time they encountered a new building or a new path that wasn’t on the map Jefferson grew more irritated and Steve quieter and more tense. That they didn’t find anything useful – no clues, no information from the few people they’d encountered and nothing that indicated that Rumlow had been in any of the empty buildings they’d checked.

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the end of the road that looped back to the main road. The loop they’d been talking about in the diner. The one they’d hoped to finish around midday.

He’d made Steve stop and was sitting on a tree trunk at the moment, the map on his knees.

“Jefferson,” there was an impatient edge to the soldier’s voice as he paced the crossroads, “that’s no use. It gets dark in an hour or so. We need to cover as much ground as possible before we can’t see a thing in here.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jefferson snapped, his head jerking up abruptly. “I’m trying to find out what area we can search in that time without having to come back to it again. To save us time. But I’m working with an _incomplete_ map here, okay?”

He wanted to scream, to burst out in an angry fit, but he managed to control himself, to keep his voice mostly level. Barely. He stared back at the map, at the lines he’d highlighted, trying to estimate the ideal route based on non-existent information.

_Dammit!_

He pushed his hands in his hair and grabbed it, pulled until it hurt. This was so _damn_ frustrating.

“A bird’s-eye view of the area- that would be great right now.”

Jefferson huffed, without looking up from his ponderings. “Sorry to disappoint, but I can’t fly. So, unless you know someone with wings… FUCK! This thing’s useless! FUCKING USELESS!”

He jumped up and threw the map on the ground, steaming with frustration.

He ran his fingers through his hair before he put his hands against his hips and took a deep breath, blocking out the quiet mantra of ‘get it to work’ that threatened to overtake his mind.

_You need to calm down, Jefferson. This isn’t helping._

_Focus!_

The picture of Bucky, frozen, came back to mind.

Reminding him why he needed his wits about him.

“… only if there is no other option.“ Blinking he focused on the situation again.

_What is he talking about? Damn, what did I miss?_

“So, for the moment I don’t have anyone with the ability to fly up my sleeve. We’re on our own.”

Jefferson frowned, his head tilted sideways. Was Steve implying that he actually knew someone who _could_ fly?

_Fly… someone with wings…_

And suddenly scales fell from his eyes. “Of course!”

Steve stopped his pacing at once in order to watch him with confusion. “What?”

Within seconds Jefferson was rummaging through his backpack – he’d left his clothes and toiletries at the motel – pushing empty and half-empty water bottles out of the way, until he found it. He pulled out a light blue scarf and unwrapped it until grey stone appeared. It was a figurine the size of a hand in the form of an eagle, head bowed and wings slightly spread.

“What’s that?”

For a moment Jefferson just stared at it. “Something that reminds me of my wife.”

_I didn’t want to say that._

_Why did I say that?_

It must’ve slipped his tongue because he always thought of her when he looked at it.

“It was hers?”

“No,” he shook his head and looked up to meet Steve’s eyes, grinning before his expression morphed into the fond smile of memory. “I stole that figure and sold it. And with the money I paid a goldsmith to make her the most beautiful engagement ring he’d ever made.”

Steve stepped closer, looking skeptical. “So, you sold it. How come you’re holding it now?”

“Because I saw it one day in Gold’s pawn shop and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving it there. I’ve got so few things that remind me of Priscilla.”

It was true. He barely had anything.

He’d been forced to sell so much over the years, to be a good father to Grace, to offer her the best live he could. But it hadn’t been enough, they’d still ended up in poverty.

Her jewelry, her expensive dresses, all sold. Only her nightgown he’d kept.

Not the fancy thing she’d surprised him with on their wedding night. No, he’d kept the bland white one she’d loved to wear in winter because it was warm. She’d always snuggled extra close against him in those nights.

“It’s a nice stone figurine, but I don’t see how that’s related to our current situation.”

Steve’s carefully stressed words and the underlying impatience called him back to the presence.

Jefferson put the scarf away and held the little eagle in his left hand. “It’s a magical totem, an artifact that’s supposed to be able to transform someone into an animal. I’m just not sure how it works, though.”

The only things he knew were the stories he’d heard before he’d stolen it all those years ago: it was created by a fairy in honor of all animal life, the magic only works for a short while and it can transform someone only once in a lifetime.

Steve put his hand on Jefferson’s lower arm, making him pause as he studied the artifact more closely. “Didn’t you say magic only works in Storybrooke?”

He was puzzled for a moment. It had only been days since the blond had learned about magic at all and yet here he was, asking sensible questions about its workings. A disbelieving laugh escaped his lips.

“You amaze me, Steve Rogers. You really do. I’ve done some research in Storybrooke with Belle and, well, I asked Regina about it. There are two different kinds of magical items. The ones that were enchanted after being made – like my former hat for example – and the ones that were _made_ by magic. Where magic was woven into them during their making. The former ones are useless when you get into a land without magic, but the other ones aren’t because the magic is part of their very nature. Luckily for us – if legends are true – this totem belongs to the second category. How good are you with memorizing landscapes?”

Bewildered by the sudden change in topic Steve furrowed his brow. “Um- not that bad? Why?”

_That has to be enough. I really hope this works!_

He picked the map back up and fixed Steve with an earsplitting grin. He almost laughed at the instant wariness this caused in the soldier. “Because two set of eyes see more than one. You take this area,” he pointed on the map, making sure, Steve got it, “and I’ll take this. See you back here.”

“Wait, what…”

The alarm and confusion in the soldier’s face and his outstretched hand were the last things Jefferson saw, before he closed his eyes, gripped the stone eagle tightly and concentrated solely on one thought:

 _Falcons. We need to be falcons_.

 

 

It worked.

He felt it immediately. The tingling feeling of pure magic spreading on his skin, soaking into him. Changing him. It was quite dizzying.

Until it suddenly wasn’t.

He opened his eyes. And gaped.

The colors were absolutely marvellous. Everything was just so much brighter and sharper, just so much- _more_. There were no words for it, really.

Of course there weren’t, because he couldn’t talk anymore.

The stone figurine was next to him on the floor, only now it was so much bigger than before. He looked down at himself, moved his new neck to get a good look and stretched his muscles.

_Holy shit. Actual wings. WINGS!!!_

That’s when he remembered the time factor.

_Focus, Jefferson. No fooling around, no matter how amazing this is. Go on, you’ve got a job to do!_

With a quick motion of his head he spotted another falcon next to him. It moved its head in a strange rotating movement as if dazed, blinking fast.

“Time is of the essence. This won’t last long!”

That’s what it sounded like in his head at least; the noise that left his mouth – beak – was an unfamiliar squeaking.

He didn’t wait to see if Steve understood, he needed to move, to hurry, to make the most of this opportunity. And so he stretched his wings, beat them against the ground and took off with the help of a bit of hopping. It was strange, everything felt new and unfamiliar and exciting and yet he _knew_ what to do and how to do it.

Ignoring his excitement and the intoxicating feeling of freedom he focused his eyes on the forest below, following one fork of the card road up north, hoping Steve would also get the hang of it and take the other one. It wasn’t hard to spot the road, even between the trees – not with these amazing eyes – and he started committing them to memory, placing each junction, each tiny side road onto the map in his mind. He followed the different paths, watching out for all kinds of buildings, mapping them as well. There even was a wood processing plant up north, close to the street Mr. Drake had been on when Rumlow had hit his car.

The wind was ruffling his feathers as he took on speed, anxious to not have enough time.

Another path, another cabin, something metallic blinking in the fading sun.

That got his attention. He dove deeper, looking closer. But it turned out to be just a gate at a side road that closed off the road, maybe some private property? He saved the information – and location – for later.

He’d checked out everything in his area except for the roads past the last crossroads where one path led even farther north and the other one more to the west, when he felt it. Only a soft tingling in the tips of his wings, but he knew what that meant.

The spell wore off.

He took a last glance towards the meandering cart road, torn between following it further or going back. But just for a moment. He was no use to either Steve nor Bucky if he ended up in the middle of nowhere right before nightfall and separated from his partner by miles. No, he needed to get back. To find Steve again and to note down his findings.

The tingling intensified, spreading further up his wings.

_You need to hurry, Jefferson. Hurry UP!_

He got the best from himself, propelling himself to peak performance. Faster and faster he beat his wings, shooting through the air back towards their starting point.

It got harder and harder though.

He spotted the bike from afar. The strain in his shoulders made him lose height, diving down below the trees. Dizziness made his sight blur, the tingling was everywhere now. The sudden sensation of falling made his stomach lurch.

Next thing he knew he collided with the ground. Hard.

He pulled his chin against his chest on instinct and threw his arms in front of his face to protect it as he kept rolling over the rough dirt of the road until his momentum finally stopped.

Jefferson groaned. Not the slightest bit ashamed at how pitiful it sounded.

He felt pretty pitiful right now. And amazed, exhilarated.

Pumped to the brink with adrenaline.

 _I was flying! Actually_ flying _!_

_And I was a fuckin’ falcon!_

Moving was a bad idea he learned. Every part of his body felt battered after that crash landing – the graze wound at his arm was pounding like hell. Slowly he sat up, the world spinning around him for a moment. There were some bloody scratches on his hands and he was dirty all over, his shirt ripped at some places and definitely ruined.

He had never cared less.

_I was flying._

Footsteps.

Fast and closing in.

“Are you alright? Jefferson, are you hurt?”

He turned to see Steve running up towards him, his knees dark with dirt but otherwise impeccable as always. Then he spotted the feather in Steve’s hair.

And he lost it.

He laughed.

Just laughed with all his heart.

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, there's two things here that I want to adress:
> 
> Priscilla:  
> Since I've got the Once upon a time - graphic novel 'Out of the past' I pretty much used the backstory of Jefferson from there as canon to my story and as a baseline to work with. Obviously his wife's name there is Priscilla.  
> If you don't know that book and want to know more just ask :)
> 
> and the Magic Totem:  
> It's from another Once upon a Time - graphic novel called 'Shadow of the Queen'. I haven't read it, but I found it on the OUAT-Wikia and it fit my ideas.  
> The story of how and why it got into Jefferson's hands, well, that's all my doing. 
> 
> I hope you liked it :)
> 
>  
> 
> Oh yeah, another teaser ;)
> 
> Jefferson’s heart was pounding against his ribs as he looked at his frozen face, relaxed and pale in his forced sleep.  
> “Don’t worry, Bucky. I’ve got you. I’m here.“


	10. Mischievous Little Brats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson finds Bucky. But he also finds more than he bargained for.  
> Or doesn't he?  
> It's up to Steve to gather up the pieces and apply a healing touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun!  
> What else is there to say? :)

 

He’d done it. He’d found him. Found Bucky.

Jefferson’s heart was pounding against his ribs as he looked at his frozen face, relaxed and pale in his forced sleep.

_No, not again!_

His eyes scanned the pipe-like, metallic _thing_ his brother was trapped in, looking for a way to open that damn thing. To get him out of there.

“Don’t worry, Bucky. I’ve got you. I’m here.“

There was a thick tube connected to his brother’s icy prison cell, right above a heavy looking locking mechanism. Jefferson never thought twice. He jumped forward, ripping the tube off with his bare hands. White and cold mist swirled out of it, down on his hands, covering them in a thin layer of ice. He didn’t care. Bucky was in that thing and he needed to get him out. _Just out!_

With hasty movements he fumbled for the locking mechanism, ice splintering on his skin as his fingers moved.

“I’ll get you out, I’ll get you…”

An arm was suddenly wrapped around his neck, pulling him back. And squeezing hard.

_No! Not again!_

His pulse sky-rocketed from one moment to the next. He threw his hands up and scratched at the attackers hand and arm and neck, everything he could reach in the hopes of getting free.

“We had to wipe him again, you know?”

Jefferson froze, paralyzed with fear and rage and panic. He knew that voice. But that wasn’t possible.

“I could hear his screams even from the outside.” The pressure against his throat abated a bit as Rumlow leaned closer, his breath tickling his hair behind his ear, whispering. “You could take his place, you know?”

Chest heaving he blinked, looking straight ahead at Bucky. His eyes were open, staring back at him, empty and uncomprehending.

Only it wasn’t Bucky.

There was a red scar along his neck.

His scar.

He was looking at himself!

“We just need to cut your arm off.”

_No! Where’s Bucky? What the hell did you do to Bucky?_

All of a sudden there was a weight in his hand. Heavy and cold and familiar.

And he knew what to do.

He tried not to, but he couldn’t stop himself.

And he couldn’t breathe.

His hand at his side, he twisted his wrist, pointed it back until he pushed against the unyielding flesh of his attacker.

_NOOOO!!!_

His finger moved.

CRACK!

The arm around his neck twitched. It was smooth and strangely cold against his throat.

It went slack, slipped off of him.

Jefferson gasped for breath as a dull thump sounded behind him.

His eyes wide, staring at the offending weapon in his hand, he turned. Afraid of that look of surprise. Even more afraid of that look of respect. And he knew they would be there. Both of them.

He wanted to run, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning.

Blood.

There was so much blood.

And metal.

Metal?

_No. Nonononono! What have I done!_

_NOOOO!!_

Long hair clung to his attacker’s – his victim’s – face, his blue eyes focusing on him, uncomprehending and betrayed.

“Why?” he uttered, hoarse and broken.

More blood stained his chest, pooled around the metal arm that lay useless at his side. Trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

“NOOOOO! BUCKY!!!!”

“Jefferson! _Jefferson_!“

He blinked, hectically. There was light and movement and Bucky’s eyes, accusing him and…

He was breathing way too fast and still not getting enough, the blood rushing in his ears.

There was a hand on his arm. A strong grip.

He moved his head, slowly. It made him woozy.

Steve.

What was… He needed to tell him about Bucky!

“Jefferson, breathe. You had a nightmare. It was just a dream!”

Again he blinked. His eyes flickering around.

Another bed, sheets crumpled. Light from a lamp on the nightstand. The table with the map splayed out on. He was in their motel room. Sitting in his bed, Steve at his side.

“Oh Gooood,” he moaned, burying his face into his hands. Relieved and shaken and ashamed all at once.

The mattress moved up as Steve left.

Jefferson was glad. He didn’t want to be seen like this. Didn’t want to be a bother. _Go back to bed, Steve. Just leave me be._ The seconds ticked by and he felt lost. Alone. Raw. He didn’t want to be alone. Not really. _Come back, Steve. Please?_

He was still panting and his heart still racing. He needed to calm down, but the dream clung on to him. Made it difficult.

He’d been in cryofreeze himself.

_I killed my brother!_

“Here, drink.”

Startled by the unexpected voice his head shot up, eyes wide. Until he spotted Steve next to him with a glass of water in his hands. He was still here. Awake. With him.

_Did you doubt it? You’ve seen the way he acts, the way he cares. Did you really think he would just go back to sleep?_

His mind finally caught up with him.

“Thanks.”

He drank it in one go, hand trembling slightly.

“You should probably change.”

Now that Steve said it, he realized that he was shivering. His skin was damp all over, same as his shirt. He was no stranger to nightmares, far from it, but this one had been something else entirely.

And Steve was right. He should change.

One of his T-shirts appeared in front of him.

With the hint of a smile – more of a grimace, well, at least he had tried – he took it. He pushed himself free of the blanket, all tangled between his legs, to sit on the edge. A soft moan left his lips as each bruise from his fall made its presence felt at the movement. He pulled off his wet tanktop, rubbed it over his chest in an attempt to dry his skin some more. It only made him feel stickier.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” Even before he’d finished mumbling those words he was already on his way to the bathroom.

The hot water did wonders on his aching body and eased his mind – he’d thought about a cold shower to wake him up properly, but the memory of his own face, frozen, made him shiver. He’d reconsidered pretty fast after that.

It was hard to believe that only hours before he’d been practically high on endorphins after their short taste of real flying. He’d felt so happy and at peace. With everything.

For just a moment.

 _With a gentleness that had only ever been reserved for_ her _he picked up the stone figurine and cradled it in his dirty hands. A fond smile graced his lips as he pressed a soft kiss against its head, imagining kind and mischievously sparkling eyes and a flowing mane of red hair._

_“You would’ve loved this, my love.”_

Now the moment was gone.

Toweling down – hissing each time he hit a bruise – he shot a quick glance at his watch. 1.42am.

_God, it’s the middle of the night! And I woke up Steve._

Wrapped in the towel he got back into the room to get some clothes. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Steve sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard, very much awake. Jefferson was glad he kept quiet.

Quickly he changed into the shirt and a fresh pair of underwear, too weary to drag himself back to the bathroom to change. With a heavy sigh he flopped back down on his bed, one arm over his eyes.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Definitely not!

_Maybe you should._

Closing his eyes was a bad idea. Snippets from his dream pushed into the darkness behind his eyes, taunting him with frozen faces and the feeling of an arm around his throat. With a sudden jerk he pulled his arm away, his eyes wide open. The ugly ceiling much more preferable to the terrifying images in his mind.

“Think you can go back to sleep?”

“No.”

Restless, he sat up again, mirroring Steve’s position against the headboard, only with one knee drawn up to wrap his arms around and lean his chin on. He looked everywhere but at Steve. Instead he glanced over at the table and their map. They’d marked down everything they’d seen from above, right after he’d stopped laughing – and after Steve had stopped complaining.

_“I’ve been a bird. A BIRD. You turned me into an ANIMAL! Sam will love this. But for Christ’s sake, Jefferson, a little bit of WARNING next time???”_

It had cost them their last hour of daylight but at least now they had a map they could work with. A map that could actually help them find Rumlow’s last whereabouts. Or even Bucky.

Again memories of his dream stole into his thoughts. Bucky frozen in that chamber. Bucky with an arm made out of metal.

_I’ll find you, brother. I promise._

“You’re thinking about Bucky.”

It wasn’t a question. That’s why Jefferson looked up at all.

The soldier was watching him, his trademark worry barely hidden under calm curiosity. He nodded towards him.

“You’re rubbing that stone pendant. You always do that when you think about him.”

Puzzled by that observation he froze, realizing that Steve was right. He _was_ rubbing the stone with his right thumb. He hadn’t been aware of it.

“Your mother made them, right?”

“How do you know?” Jefferson asked, startled.

Steve smiled fondly.

He knew that smile.

„Bucky told me. A very- very long time ago.“

They fell into silence. Jefferson was surprised to find that it was a comfortable one.

The unexpected question took him back in time.

He chuckled.

The soldier’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

Jefferson bit his lip, the corners of his mouth still twitching upwards. “I just remembered the day when I saw those pendants for the first time.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow and crossed his legs. “I smell a story there.”

It had been many, many years that he’d thought back to that day. He should have done it more often. Should’ve cherished the memory.

He saw no harm in sharing it now. Quite the opposite.

“Bucky and I were playing with some other kids near the village square. Don’t ask me what exactly, I just remember that there was a lot of running around involved. Well, it soon turned into a fight…”

_“You cheated!”_

_“Did not!”_

_“You’re lying. He’s a liar. LIAR!“_

_“And you’re a sore loser! LOOOSER!”_

_The other kids were siding with Bill – he was older and could be quite mean, so they didn’t want to be on his bad side – as he started to back him into a corner. Only Bucky was beside him, of course._

_He wasn’t afraid, not of that idiot. Sure, Bill was strong, but thick._

_And Jefferson had Bucky at his side._

_“You’re a liar. I don’t play with liars!” he proclaimed._

_And out of nowhere Bill lunged forward and pushed him hard. He stumbled back, trying to catch himself with a step to the side, his arms flailing, as suddenly his head knocked against something. Hard._

_He cried out._

_So did Bucky. „JEFF!“_

_His hand flew up against his temple where it hurt the most. He touched something warm and sticky, and it trickled down his face. With big eyes he stared at his hand, his red hand._

_His lip trembled and his eyes burned. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of Bill._

_But it hurt._

_He couldn’t help it._

_“You’re a meanie, Bill. A real…“_

_Bucky stopped his angry shouting immediately. Just as Jefferson did his crying._

_The angry barking of a dog filled the air. And it came closer._

_He opened his eyes, looked around to orientate himself. His fear made him forget his head within less than a second. He knew that dog. It was the butcher’s. And that beast was crazy._

_That’s when he realized against whose fence he’d tumbled._

_Right next to the gate._

_And his impact had made the latch fall open._

_Bucky’s hand was suddenly in his. “Run, Jeff. RUN!”_

_He didn’t hesitate and turned away from the furious snarling and the thumping of paws._

_He barely noticed that Bucky had pulled him away so quickly that the others hadn’t even moved so far. Served them right!_

_Their screams started soon after, together with the butcher’s shouting at his dog._

_They ran as fast as they could past the blacksmiths and directly into the forest, never looking back. Bucky was faster, pulling him along. It grew quiet behind them._

_Bucky turned his head, making sure – and tripping over a root. He fell, almost taking Jefferson with him. With a loud cry his brother rolled over, holding his shin, right below a very bloody knee._

_“Is it behind us?”_

_He quickly looked around, but there was nothing, so he shook his head at Bucky. “We’re safe.”_

_Breathing heavily he sat down next to his brother, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand. Bucky chuckled: “Maybe it ate Bill.”_

_They looked at each other, for a moment, for two moments, and then exploded with laughter._

“… Let’s say, our mother wasn’t exactly thrilled when we got home. Don’t get me wrong she was worried sick as she saw all the blood, but as soon as she heard the story she was yelling at us for getting near that beast of a dog in the first place. The whole time she treated our wounds she was muttering things like ‘mischievous little brats’ and ‘will be the death of me’.”

A soft chuckle from the other bed interrupted his tale. Steve shook his head, grinning. “That sounds vaguely familiar.”

The pang of jealousy came out of nowhere.

Steve had so much more memories of Bucky. Of growing up with him, making mischief, living adventures.

_This isn’t fair, Jefferson. It’s not his fault._

_And he lost him, too. Remember that!_

Yeah, he remembered. And that made it easier. At least he knew that his brother hadn’t been alone.

“I couldn’t sleep that night,” he went on with the story. “Headache. So I stole out of bed and peeked through the curtain that separated our bed from the living area. Mother was sitting in front of the fire, still working on some stone pendants. She sometimes made necklaces or bracelets to sell at the market in town. She was good at it, no matter if it was leather, stone or wood.”

_He just stood there in the shadows, leaning against the wall – it was cool against his aching head – and watched her. The warm light of the fire danced across her features as she sat cross legged on the floor, rubbing at something in her hand. He squinted to get a better look._

_It was the blue stone pendant she’d been working on for awhile now. She held it in her hand and wiped at it - she called it polishing he remembered – with a red cloth._

_The fire cracked and the light sparked for a moment, flickering even worse afterwards. In the eery light it almost looked as if the cloth wasn’t red at all but stained with blood._

_He shuddered, huddling closer against the wall. The darkness felt suddenly closer, unfriendly. A look back at his mother made him ease up a bit. It was just a red cloth she held._

_But now he wanted to be with her even more than before. His head was hurting and he couldn’t sleep and he just wanted his mother. Yet he hesitated. He didn’t want to disturb her. Getting the strange feeling that she wouldn’t want him to interrupt her._

_Undecided he shuffled around._

_“Problems sleeping, honey?” Her voice was soft and warm as she slowly raised her head to look at him._

_He nodded, biting his lip._

_“Is your head still hurting?”_

_Again he nodded._

_With one fluid motion she placed cloth and stone on the floor in front of her and spread her arms, winking at him. “Come here.”_

_All hesitation forgotten he padded over and into his mother’s inviting embrace. She pulled him onto her lap and cradled his head against her shoulder, all the while gently stroking his hair._

_“What are you doing?” He knew what she’d been doing but he wanted to hear her voice._

_She picked up one of the stones – only now did he notice that there were two of them – and held it up for him to see. It was a nice stone, not as lame as the whitish ones she usually had, but all blue. The black and white spots seemed almost alive in the flickering light._

_“Do you know what this is?”_

_He shook his head._

_“It’s a very special stone from a distant world. Your father found it on one of his journeys. He’d been told it’s a stone for royalty.”_

_“Wow,” he gaped._

_His mother kissed him on the forehead and just held him close, stroking him lazily. After a while she started humming. She still did that as his eyes finally drooped._

“Royalty, she said. I’ve truly never assumed they were for us.”

“I like your mother,” Steve finally said after a while of peaceful quiet.

Jefferson nodded, melancholy aching behind his ribs. “Yeah, she was special.”

And she had been. If only fate had treated her more kindly. But she had suffered like them all. It was good to remember her the way she’d been before.

And not just that, it was good to remember it at all. To see a glimpse of happy days instead of the cruel darkness of his dreams.

He swallowed against the lump that was forming in his throat. There was no place for jealousy here. None at all.

“Thank you, Steve.”

The blond just waved his hand in a non-committal gesture. “Don’t mention it. We all have nightmares.”

And Jefferson was grateful for that, too. That Steve had pulled him out of it, had made him push the dream away by visiting old memories.

But that wasn’t what he’d meant.

“No, I mean- I’m glad Bucky had – _has_ – a friend like you.”

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter of the whole story. I don't know why.  
> Maybe because it's so very dark and so very light-hearted at the same time. And because I'm still amazed at how well both of them turned out. I had absolutely no idea where to go with this at the beginning, just my notes of 'Jefferson has a nightmare; they talk; childhood memories'.  
> I don't know.  
> Anyway, I hope you liked it as well.  
> I'd be more than happy if you share your opinion :D (your comments always make my day!)
> 
> And it's teaser time ;)
> 
> And now Steve obviously planned to investigate on his own, just like at Portage Lake. Hadn’t he learned anything from that disaster?  
> “You’re not leaving me behind like that again.”


	11. We're In This Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson had known it from the start: it was only a matter of time - while working with a Partner - until one of two possibilities would come to pass.  
> Being betrayed or watching the other die.  
> And the time was up now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took longer than the last but I had one hell of a week.
> 
> There'll be some more Jefferson-backstory. There's further information in the notes at the end.

 

„No fuckin‘ way!“

Jefferson still grabbed Steve’s lower arm and held his gaze, making sure he got the message across. He would _not_ stay back again!

They’d continued their search the next day pretty much like the day before until they’d learned from a young woman at one of the cabins about a black haired guy she’d seen a few times, always near a cabin down a side road. It had been the first lead they’d got, so of course they’d followed it immediately.

At the end of said road they’d found another cabin. Empty. With tire tracks in the ground in front of it.

On the alert right away Jefferson had picked the lock and followed Steve into the house. But – as always so far – they had to leave empty handed. Nothing that pointed to Rumlow or Hydra or anything useful at all.

To be sure they’d searched the surroundings. That’s when Jefferson had found it, hidden underneath the heavy growth of some bushes behind the cabin: a metal trapdoor.

Old paint was coming off in flakes, exposing rusty patches underneath.

Steve had pulled him back a few feet at once.

And now he obviously planned to investigate on his own, just like at Portage Lake. Hadn’t he learned anything from that disaster? 

No, Jefferson had no intention of being left behind again.

No intention of staking the risks that high again.

“You’re not leaving me behind like that again.”

Steve’s expression turned hard, his ‘soldier-mode’ engaged again. “This is too dangerous, Jefferson. It could be nothing, but if it’s not- I don’t want you to get hurt, so: _stay here_. Or even better: back at the bike. In case you need to run.”

_Please, you have to go!_

He had to close his eyes against the memory, her desperate plea still fresh in his mind.

No, not this time. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

His fingers closed tighter around Steve’s arm.

“We’re in this together. I’m staying at your side.”

Steve sighed, putting his hand on Jefferson’s and gently pulling it off. “We are in this together, yes. But in a team you use your strengths to balance the weaknesses of the other. You look out for one another.”

_No. We’re partners, remember? We stick together._

She had been adamant, unwilling to leave his side.

Why did this still hurt so much after all this time?

Maybe he should let Steve go.

Sticking together had been the mistake last time.

But he could only look out for Steve if they stayed together.

_What am I supposed to do?_

“And if this _is_ the entrance to some Hydra bunker or whatever, this is _my_ strength and I don’t… wait… is this about last time?” Steve’s eyes were suddenly very near, his gaze questioning. Intense and careful at the same time. “Are you afraid of getting hurt again if I leave you here?”

_What?_

Jefferson blinked. Confused and unprepared. He hadn’t even thought about that.

On instinct he placed his hand against his throat at the memory. Swallowing.

He shook his head. That wasn’t important now.

“I understand. Take the bike and get back to the woman at the cabin. You should be safe there. I’ll come back as soon as…”

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t wait for Steve to finish.

“You don’t get it! I’m not afraid of getting hurt! I’m afraid you get yourself killed, you moron!”

Taken aback at first, a good-natured smile soon softened the blond’s features. “I’m actually pretty good at what I do, so- no need to worry, okay?”

_No! You said it yourself, we’re partners and I’m sure as hell not leaving you alone in this place._

He shook his head against the memory.

He hadn’t left then.

He wasn’t about to do it now.

“I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

_I need to be there to save you. I can’t let history repeat itself. I just can’t._

Irritation crept into Steve’s gaze and he pushed Jefferson back a bit. “We’ve been there already. What’s up with you all of a sudden?”

Jefferson bit his lip, his brow furrowed in pain. And it just burst out of him.

“I have to stop it from happening, alright?!”

Bewildered – and oh great, the worry was back in his eyes – Steve stared at him, unsure what to do.

“Stop what?”

Shaking his head against all the emotions and memories that filled his head he automatically started flourishing his hands.

“You! From dying!”

“Really, I’m not…”

“Yes, you are! We’re partners. And that happens if you team up with me. You either betray me – which you are not – or you get killed. I won’t let that happen. Not again. Not-“

Two hands suddenly closed around his shoulders, giving him a short but firm shake. That got his attention. Those intense blue eyes were searching his face, full of hurt and a deep understanding. It was quite unsettling.

“You lost someone.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “No, more than that. My stupidity got her killed. She’s dead because of _me_.”

His voice shook and he found his hand was back at his neck, trying to alleviate the feeling of vulnerability. It didn’t help with the burning behind his eyes, though.

He felt a gentle squeezing where Steve was still holding him.

“It was your wife, wasn’t it?”

There was no denying it.

_It’s too late, love._

_Our daughter, you have to be there for her._

He could still feel her weight in his arms. Her blood on his fingers, soaking into his trousers. Her soft hair against his cheek. The feeling of her flaccid, dead lips against his own as he’d kissed her one last time.

He couldn’t help the tear that escaped his eyes.

“I can’t be responsible for another death, Steve. Please!”

“Oh Jefferson,” the blond took a deep breath, “you’re not… alright. I’m actually not that easy to kill. However, if it makes you feel any better, we’re going together. BUT when I open the hatch you stay aside. You only come down when I’ll give you a signal. You stay right at my side where I can keep you behind the shield. And if I tell you to run, you run!”

He nodded. He could do that.

Already embarrassed as hell about this outburst he wiped his eyes and managed a shaky smile.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

“Oh, and Jefferson… we’re going to talk about this tonight.”

His tone made it clear that there was no getting out of this. He really wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

 

Pieces of bark flew through the air as Steve’s fist connected with the tree.

“There has to be _something_ , dammit!”

He was breathing heard, the muscles of his back and shoulders visibly working under his grey shirt. In a slow and deliberate motion he raised his forearms, fingers splayed, in a placating gesture to try and calm down again. Or keep his anger from exploding further.

Jefferson kept back and gave him a moment. He knew what the soldier was feeling only too well. He’d been there yesterday.

In a way he was even glad to see Steve like this. To see that the frustration was getting to him, too. That even his composed exterior was cracking under this form of torment.

The lead about the dark haired man had been the last thing they’d discovered. And that had only led to an empty cabin and a surprisingly well equipped protective bunker. Oh, and of course yet another one of his embarrassingly emotional breakdowns – followed by a painful conversation in the motel that evening. And his need to call his daughter.

It had felt so good to hear her voice.

That had been two days ago.

“There’s still the road up north,” Jefferson said, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Steve turned abruptly. There was blood on his knuckles. “Maybe we got it all wrong. Maybe there’s nothing here at all.”

Jefferson sighed. „We’ve been through this already.” But as he spotted the look on Steve’s face he relented. “Fine.”

He ran his hand through his hair and started pacing the width of the path, keeping to the spots where the sun managed to break through the treetops. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dark-red paisley shirt and enjoyed the warmth on his skin – or would have if he’d paid attention to it.

“Rumlow said he’d been in the middle of putting a stray dog in its place. He told you that now that he’s as good as dead you’ll never find him. He had to be talking about Bucky. Right?”

Steve nodded. “I’m sure about that. You heard him. The way he spoke about the Winter Soldier. Yeah, I’m sure. Question is what did ‘putting in his place’ mean exactly?”

Jefferson stopped, taking a deep breath to voice his worst fear at the moment: “Getting him back to Hydra? Wiping him again, so they could use him again?”

Steve shook his head. “You’ll never find him _now_. That really bugs me. He was putting so much emphasize on the ‘now’. As if he was essential to finding Bucky. Maybe Rumlow’s actually the only one who knew where he was – or is. But that would mean he must have put Bucky somewhere he can be sure he won’t be able to escape until he gets back.”

“So either he’s locked up somewhere here or Rumlow put him back in that cryo-unit.”

“Bucky is clever and the Winter Soldier proved to be pretty resourceful. It’s possible Rumlow underestimated him and Bucky managed to escape.”

Jefferson placed his hands against his hips, kicking at a stone on the ground. “Even then we should find something. Tracks, shackles, something like a cell. I don’t know.” He let out a frustrated grunt.

Steve mirrored Jefferson’s posture, looking away from the empty hunting cabin at the end of the road and back along the path. “Rumlow was here. Somewhere in these woods. That’s for sure. He hit a car and this guy yesterday saw a black SUV speeding through the forest shortly before the time of the crash. He was here. But _where_?”

That was the question.

For three and a half days now they’ve been looking everywhere. Followed each side road, checked all the buildings they’d spotted from above. Even that wood processing plant. Nothing.

This morning – up until now – they’d checked out the route to the west that Jefferson had spotted in bird form – one of the two he hadn’t been able to follow anymore.

Steve had gotten quieter and quieter and more tense every day. But what really had betrayed his anxiousness was the way his encouraging words, his positivity had turned more and more desperate and strained until they had stopped altogether last night. As if he’d used them all up in his attempt of calming Jefferson down.

This whole situation had worn his nerves thin. Their frustrating search that brought up nothing and with each passing day, each passing hour Jefferson’s temper had shot up together with his increasing worry.

Each time they looked at a cabin or a maintenance hut his mind was making up scenarios what they might find. Bucky, strapped to a table like on the pictures in his file. Bucky, frozen again, face twisted into a grimace. An empty cabin with just a piece of paper pinned to the inside of the door with the words “fooled ya”.

And each time they came up empty handed the scenarios turned worse and more horrible. After his mind had tormented him for hours with the image of Bucky, sitting apathetic in some kind of cell, stripped off his metal arm to make him less dangerous, he’d finally snapped.

That had been yesterday evening.

Steve had let him vent, voicing all of his fears and doubts, only to give him new hope afterwards with his words, with his steadfast belief.

Seeing Steve like this now, doubting himself and just as helpless as he felt himself, it was disconcerting, if not even frightening.

_All the more reason to keep it together, Jefferson. At least one of you needs a level head. You cannot both despair or you’ll never find Bucky!_

And they needed to find him.

“You’re absolutely sure that there are no other bases in the area apart from that in Montpelier? It wouldn’t have to be something big, just a quiet, but secure place where he could keep Bucky for the time being.”

“Yeah, “ Steve sighed, rubbing a hand over his neck. “Nat checked everything she could find. If there is something here, it’s most likely underground with the entrance hidden somewhere apart from the roads, since we checked out all buildings already.”

Jefferson huffed, another part of his hope dying. “Or we missed something. Nonetheless, chances of finding it would be slim to none. That means if there even _is_ one.”

Steve nodded then leaned his head back, his eyes closed. An almost painful expression crossed his face.

“Steve?” Jefferson asked, his voice slightly trembling. He was afraid of what Steve might think, what he might say. Afraid the soldier would tell him that keeping this search up was pointless. Giving up was no option, not now, not ever. Not to him.

He’d given up hope on finding Bucky once only to learn years later that he was in the same realm. And very much alive. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Especially not when he was so close. They had to be close, right?

“It’s time to call Tony.”

_Okay, I wasn’t expecting that._

“Who’s Tony?”

The blond rubbed a hand over his face. He looked weary.

„Tony Stark. Ironman.“

Jefferson narrowed his eyes. Was that supposed to tell him something? His lack of reaction obviously made it clear to Steve that he had to elaborate on that.

„He’s a friend. And- and a genius when it comes to technical stuff. He’s got this suit, the Ironman-suit. It’s got sensors and stuff like that. He might be able to help us find out if there’s a secret base here somewhere. Maybe he’d even be able to track Bucky down with it. I don’t know.”

_Come again?!_

Jefferson couldn’t believe this.

“WHAT?” he cried, his anger flaring like a fire after a splash of spirit. “You KNOW someone who could’ve helped us? Who could’ve tracked Bucky down DAYS ago? Why didn’t you tell? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL?” He threw his hands up in a desperate, furious gesture and kicked at the dirt with all his might. “TIME is of the ESSENCE here! STEVE!!! WHY?“

_So that’s it. Betrayed again._

It was Wonderland all over again. The anger. The helplessness.

The betrayal.

The only thing missing was Steve getting on his bike leaving him here, in the middle of nowhere.

Breathing hard he fixed the soldier with a glare so hard it should leave no space for misinterpretation. “Call him. NOW!”

Steve bit his lip and scrunched up his face in a painful manner against the onslaught of rage directed his way. His eyes were downcast.

_At least he has the decency to look sheepish!_

_Why would he do that?_

_Was Bucky not important enough for him to use all his resources?_

_No, that doesn’t make sense. Not after everything…_

_He loves Bucky._

_Then, why?_

_WHY?_

“It’s complicated, Jefferson.”

One of his eyebrows shot up. “There’s nothing complicated about calling a person who has the ability to find my brother – _your friend_ – faster than we ever could!”

“I said ‘maybe’. ‘Maybe’ he could-“ The blond stopped with a sigh, conflicting emotions playing across his face. “Bucky- the Winter Soldier- he killed Tony’s parents.”

That information hit him like a fist in the stomach.

Stole his thunder.

They had turned his brother into a killer. He knew that. Had heard it more than enough these last days. But he’d never really processed it.

His brother had killed the parents of one of Steve’s friends.

It suddenly felt so much more real.

“I don’t know how Tony would react. He’s- he’s impulsive and hot-headed. If I call him it’s possible he’ll inform the authorities to get Bucky locked up for all eternity. Or come here to get revenge. I really can’t tell.“

_Revenge._

_Locked up for eternity._

The possibilities danced across his mind, taunting him.

He stumbled backwards a bit, leaning heavily against a nearby tree.

“He was more of a- last resort,” Steve admitted.

It’s been almost five days now. They’d been looking for three and a half. In an area they knew he either had to be or where there should be traces of where he was held. Or at least of a fight or something.

If he was held captive and wasn’t frozen… five days… that’s an awfully long time without food. Or _water_. But surely Rumlow had provided that, right?

Could they take the risk?

Jefferson didn’t want for his brother to end up in a prison. But it was better than dead.

_Revenge._

His voice betrayed his thoughts, shaking at his inner conflict. “If he- should this friend of yours act with violence against Bucky, could you- could you stop him?”

Steve swallowed. Uncomfortable. Unsure.

Jefferson couldn’t tell, if he was uncomfortable with the idea of calling this Tony guy or fighting him. Unsure about what to do or if he could take him in a fight.

He only knew that he grew more and more anxious the longer the soldier remained silent.

“If I have to.”

_That’s good enough for me._

“Then call him.”

 

(TBC)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bits of backstory (especially the dialogue-parts Jefferson is remembering) are from the graphic novel 'Out of the Past' again.  
> It illustrates how Jefferson and Priscilla first met and how she died because he did something stupid.
> 
> Or for those who want to know it in more detail (but be warned, these are MAJOR SPOILERS for the novel, in case you still want to read it!):
> 
>  
> 
>    
> SPOILERS - SPOILERS - SPOILERS
> 
> They're are both thieves and meet while trying to steal the same object. They escape together and realize they're a good team. So now they work together, fall in love, steal together, marry and get a child.  
> They settle down with their little baby girl and promise each other to put their thieving days into the past (including the hat) to be a family. And so that Grace would grow up with both her parents. But after a few years their money reserve from their thieving days is exhausted.  
> Jefferson gets a letter from a former friend about the whereabouts of an artifact he'd pursued before: the Clock of Evermore, a powerful clock that can manipulate time itself. He wants to steal it, sell it and use the money (surely a fortune) for his family. Priscilla deems it too risky. So Jefferson sneaks out of the house at night and takes his hat to get to Wonderland, to the property of the March Hare.  
> Of course he gets caught. And is imprisoned in a neverending tea party since the Hare turns back the Clock of Evermore again and again, trapping him in some kind of time loop.  
> Until Priscilla comes to the rescue. She saves him and wants to leave, but Jefferson wants to get his hat back. He's afraid the Hare would use it to follow them. He wants Priscilla to leave the way she got there (with a portal making rabbit) but she wouldn't leave him. So they look together. The Hare finds them and chases after them with his guards.  
> They flee upstairs into some room, but while getting in Priscilla gets shot. Jefferson locks the door and takes her into his arms. He wants her to take the hat (he came alone so it only works for one person) to get home and to a doctor but she knows it's too late already. She tells him to leave her there and get back to Grace, because she shouldn't lose both parents at once. Then she dies in his arms while the guards tear down the door.  
> He kisses her one last time, takes the hat and leaves. And it is clear that it's one hell of a hard decision for him.  
> The story ends with Jefferson leading Grace to the hut in the woods that we know from the show, tucking her into bed and promising her to never leave her. 
> 
> END OF SPOILERS
> 
>  
> 
> Since there's only one chapter left, sorry, there won't be a teaser this time.  
> I hope you can forgive me ;)
> 
> Feel free to leave feedback - I'd really love to hear from you!  
> Hope you enjoyed it!


	12. Poor Signal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No hint, no luck and no Tony.  
> Jefferson is getting desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally back home after two days at an outing with my collegues from work.  
> Time for the last chapter (god, it's really over already).

 

“Any luck?”

Steve shook his head as he pushed his phone back in his jeans while balancing two water bottles in his other hand. “No. Jarvis said, he’s attending some gala dinner or something.”

“Jarvis, the- the butler, right?”

The blond tried for a noncommittal shrug, but it felt off. There was something more to it, but Jefferson really didn’t care at the moment. “Yeah, the butler. He said, Tony tried to call back already but couldn’t reach me.”

“Maybe poor signal. You never know out in these woods.”

Jefferson was tired. Really tired. And anxious. Not a good combination.

He wished for Grace’s soothing presence. For her optimism.

_God, I miss her so much!_

They’d searched the last road all the way up north until they’d reached the outskirts of some decommissioned industrial area. Suddenly there were more possible buildings to check out as they could until the sun went down. And Steve still hadn’t been able to reach this Tony guy.

First he’d been in a business meeting, now a gala dinner. Seriously, it was harder to reach this man than Rumplestiltskin back when he’d still worked for him.

He just hoped, when they finally did, that this Tony was less of a threat if angered or out of control than the Dark One.

“I just learned that the main road down to St. Johnsbury is blocked due to roadwork.”

Jefferson narrowed his eyes, blinking up at Steve against the sun. “So,” he started, trying to put that comment into context, “you’re telling me that people who want to get south might take the cart roads? That Rumlow could have been anywhere in this town here?”

Steve nodded, biting his lips in a dejected expression.

_Dammit! That leaves us with a whole new town to search._

_God! Bucky, please be ok. Be strong._

_No, be able to escape._

_I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but please have escaped. Then at least I know you’re okay. I hope._

Crestfallen he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his palms. They really needed this Tony. They needed every help they could get.

_So answer your damn phone!_

“Here, drink something.”

Reluctantly he looked back up. Steve was holding out one of the bottles from the gas station behind him. At least now they had enough gas again to continue their fruitless search.

He almost huffed at his own gloomy thoughts.

With a sigh he stretched out his hand, feeling the cool plastic of the bottle against his fingers. But just as he was about to grip it, it wasn’t there anymore. Instead the bottle crashed onto the ground, rolling away to his left side.

“What was that for?” he snapped at Steve. He really wasn’t in the mood for childish behavior like that. If Steve thought that ‘joke’ would lighten up his mood he was _absolutely_ wrong.

“I- I didn’t do anything!”

Throwing him his most irritated glare he pushed himself to his feet and stomped after the bottle. Crouching down he picked it up.

Only he didn’t.

He blinked.

_What the hell!_

And tried again. Slowly.

He stretched his hand out towards the bottle but his hand reached past it.

And this time he felt it.

Weak. Barely noticeably, but _there_.

A pull at his wrist.

At his stone pendant to be precise.

“Steeeve,” he drawled, his voice vibrating with – wonder? Bafflement? Agitation? Hope?

The other man was almost instantly at his side.

“What is it?”

Jefferson stood up again, slowly, staring at his left hand as if it were the Holy Grail. As he felt a hand on his shoulder he ripped his gaze away and fixed Steve with wide eyes. His mouth felt suddenly dry. So all he could manage was a hoarse whisper:

“I think it’s leading me.”

Only incomprehension answered him. “Jefferson? What are you…“ Then Steve’s eyes followed the portal jumper’s gaze to the blue stone. He blinked, his mouth went slack.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Swallowing hard, Jefferson shook his head.

They just stared at each other. Too many emotions to name swirling behind their eyes.

Until Steve picked up the bottle and fished for his keys. “Wait here, I’ll get the bike!”

“No,” he stopped the soldier. “No, it’s too weak. I- I can barely feel it right now.”

He would never be able to follow the strange pull from the back of a motorcycle.

“Alright,” Steve immediately stopped, his new determination evident in every movement – powerful and purposeful. And in the set of his jaw. He stepped behind Jefferson, opening the backpack that was still on his back and put the bottles inside. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!“

Jefferson didn’t need to be told twice.

It was hard at first, to identify the impossibly soft pull on his wrist. They had to stop every few yards for him to feel if they were still on track. It led them away from the gas station across a street and down a narrow side road, back towards the industrial area they’d crossed earlier.

Jefferson didn’t dare to think.

But when the pull got stronger, a laugh tumbled of his lips. Stunned and disbelieving.

And suddenly all kinds of questions bustled around in his head. Just fleeting thoughts. Each and every one of them just holding still for a minute but before he could think about it, the next one was already in its place.

_How is this working?_

_Bucky, are you alright?_

_Where are we going?_

_Has it been that easy all along?_

_Did Regina do something else with my pendant?_

_Is this a trap?_

_Bucky, where are you?_

_I’m coming._ We _are coming!_

They navigated through the area in silence. Jefferson leading and Steve following.

Until he stopped in front of an old factory building. Most of the windows were bashed in. There was a hole in the roof at one end. Everything was covered either in moss or rust.

This was it.

His heart was pounding like crazy and he bit his lip to stop his jaw from trembling.

_What if you’re wrong? What if Bucky isn’t in there?_

_No, he is._

_I know it._

_I feel it._

_Oh God, I’m about to find my brother!_

They stepped over the collapsed chain-link fence and through the deserted yard. Jefferson headed directly to a door at the side of the building.

As he tried to push it open his hand against the corroded material was shaking.

Suddenly another hand was placed on his.

Steve.

The man pressed his fingers reassuringly before he gently pushed him out of the way to try it himself and to subsequently kick the door out of its hinges as it didn’t budge at his pushing.

The clattering resonated through the building.

He had no eyes for the halls and rooms they passed. The only thing he saw was the picture of Bucky in his mind’s eye. The one Steve had given him.

The young sergeant Barnes with his silly hat and the hint of a smile.

The only things he felt were the thundering of his heart and the steady, almost urgent pull on his wrist.

Steve’s hand was suddenly on his arm, holding him back. He had a finger pressed to his lips, prompting Jefferson to listen carefully.

He was about to shake his head when he heard it.

Breathing.

Fast and raspy.

Someone was here.

_Bucky!!!_

He wasn’t thinking anymore. With a harsh jerk he pulled free of Steve and hurried forward.

Hurried towards the wide opening on the right side up ahead that led into another room.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Unable to move.

There was someone. A man.

Sitting on a crate, leaning heavily against some kind of machine.

His left arm was trapped in the machine, squished in between some kind of bolts.

An arm made of metal.

_Oh my God!_

_It’s Bucky._

_It’s actually Bucky._

He wanted to run to him. Pull him into his arms. Shout his name.

Anything.

But he was frozen in shock.

In joy.

In anger at Rumlow.

His voice didn’t work. His legs felt like jelly.

Steve next to him seemed to have the same problem.

That’s when the man moved.

He hung limply at the side of the machine, raising his head weakly. Dirty black strands of hair fell into his eyes, obscured his face.

But he’d know that face anywhere.

His eyes looked dull and hollow.

He didn’t like that one bit.

Steve next to him moved. Hurried closer and knelt down in front of his broken friend.

Bucky blinked. Moving his lips. Slowly as if it’d cost him too much effort.

Jefferson almost didn’t understand him, the hoarse and whispered words barely audible.

But he did.

And it broke his heart.

“Help… me…”

 

The End 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the last scene WAS inspired by watching the post-credit scene from Antman. Of course it was. Actually that scene was the final push (after your asking for a sequel) to actually write this because it fit so perfectly.  
> I hope you don't mind that I haven't tagged it, but it would've spoiled the whole ending and the scene is all over the internet, so I thought even those who haven't seen the movie know about the scene already.  
> In case I really spoilered someone here, I'm truly sorry. 
> 
> So, I really hope you liked it :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, for leaving kudos and thanks for all your lovely comments! :D  
> It was fun!
> 
>  
> 
> PS: I'm working on a sequel, just to let you know there's more to come if you're interested in how the appearance of Bucky changes the dynamics of Steve's and Jefferson's friendship (or in any of those three cuties in general). It'll be the final installation of this series.


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